


Speak No Evil

by alex_kade



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Flashbacks, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Physical Disability, Serious Injuries, Whump, especially when it's ezra, he was trying so very hard to be good too, when things go wrong they really go wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:49:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 26,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25599097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alex_kade/pseuds/alex_kade
Summary: OW: How can something that was supposed to be so good wind up going so horribly bad? Why, because Ezra is involved, of course! Another Ez whump story told mostly in a series of flashbacks.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This, I believe, was my very first M7 fic ever. Of course I didn't start out small, lol. It's still one of my very favorites though, and I still have the plots in my head for the sequels I was going to write for it too. Ten years later but I may very well pick it back up again!

"Ezra, STOP!" Chris shouts, barely dodging in time to prevent himself from being skewered with a violently thrown pencil. Instead, the writing utensil lodges itself neatly into the wall behind his head.

Ezra freezes with his hand still out in front of him, his face a mixture of shock and apology.

"You done?" Larabee asks heatedly.

Nodding slowly, Ezra looks at the damage he has wrought to the saloon. Tables are flipped over, chairs broken, glass littered all about the floor, food and alcohol splashed on nearly every surface. Looking ashamed, the gambler brushes a hand through his hair, then silently begins to right the tables.

"Saw Maude leaving on the stage. This have anything to do with her?" Chris asks as he flips up a chair, noting the slight pause in the gambler's movements at the mention of his mother. "Figures she'd be the one to set you off," he continues. "Shoulda taken bets on it."

The Southerner's lips twitch ever so slightly into a smile, but it fades almost instantly as he steps towards the pencil sticking from the wall. Wrenching it out, he glides his finger gently over the ruined tip and sighs. Quick as lightening, he twirls it between his fingers and slips it into his jacket pocket, a motion that causes the watching gunslinger's eyes to gloss over in memory.

* * *

" _Gentlemen, this is not just a cigar," Ezra announces, flashing the item in front of the faces of his fellow lawmen as they loiter casually outside the saloon. "It hails from the finest tobacco establishment in the world, secreted away on a tropical island. These are very hard to come by-" Buck snatches the cigar and smells it, chuckling as Ezra snatches it back. "-and very expensive, Mr. Wilmington. Please refrain from mishandling it."_

" _Hell, Ez, a smoke's a smoke," Buck continues to laugh._

_The gambler scrunches up his face. "Hardly," he mutters. "An individual such as yourself simply lacks the expertise…and the taste…to differentiate between this refined product and common desert grass."_

" _What about the rest of us?" Nathan asks, reaching for the cigar. "I know a thing or two about tobacco."_

_Ezra pulls his arm away, grinning at the healer. "I don't doubt that you do, Mr. Jackson. However, I can't seem to recall ever seeing you partake in the habit of properly enjoying it…which I suppose I can hardly blame you for. I imagine your experience with the plant has been a bit…tainted."_

" _Can't argue with ya, there," Nathan agrees, sitting back._

_Ezra glances at each of the faces of his companions, settling on JD's eager eyes. "Mr. Dunne, you can't possibly expect me to believe you would have any opinion of value on the matter, as you have yet to discover the difference between a glass of bourbon and a glass of milk," – JD's smile turns down into a scowl as Ezra meets Vin's thoughtful expression – "and I believe I may actually_ have _witnessed you smoking desert grass." Vin snorts out a quick laugh while the gambler moves on to Josiah. He seems to ponder over the preacher for a second before his focus slightly shifts to something behind the man's back, his gold-toothed grin flashing as his gaze lands upon the leader of their peculiar group. Chris Larabee, leaning against a support post with his attention firmly glued to a letter in his hand, looks up to meet the gambler's smile._

" _Not interested, Ezra," the man in black simply states._

_Still smiling, Standish argues anyway. "But certainly a man who indulges in such pleasantries as often as yourself must know a little about-"_

" _Got a job for you," Larabee interrupts, pushing himself away from the post and holding the letter out to the confidence man._

" _What is it this time?" Standish sighs, taking the letter. He continues to openly complain as he scans the writing. "Taking inventory on some ill-gotten gains? Determining the legitimacy of some poor soul's will? Perhaps translating a document of rather boring-" He cuts himself off and looks up at the gunslinger, his eyes alight with surprise and a touch of excitement. "Mr. Larabee, am I to understand that I will be getting paid to-"_

" _To referee, not to play," Chris firmly points out._

_Ezra's smile spreads easily across his face. "An invitation to merely attend as an observer is near impossible; to actually be requested as an active participant, in any fashion, is a great honor."_

_Unable to hold back his curiosity any longer, JD jumps up and tries to read the letter over Ezra's shoulder. "'Queen's Court'? What's that?" he asks as Ezra takes an annoyed step away from him._

" _Isn't that a poker tournament?" Josiah asks._

" _THE poker tournament," Ezra answers wistfully, "and every gambler's dream. Only the best player's in the nation are able to attend."_

_Vin cocks an eyebrow at the gambler. "So how come you were never invited before?"_

_Ezra tilts his head at the tracker. "Why thank you, Mr. Tanner, for your unerring confidence in my abilities. I also believe I would have made for a worthy opponent. Unfortunately, my…uh…_ other _profession required me to make it virtually impossible to track down my whereabouts. Prior to now, there has been nowhere, and really no_ one _, to send an invitation to…..Speaking of which," he looks to the man in black, "how is it, exactly, that the fastidious organizers of this grand event knew to seek me out?"_

_Chris shrugs. "Judge Travis mentioned they were looking for people. I may have mentioned your name."_

" _But…why?" Ezra stumbles out, looking stunned. "I don't recall doing anything recently that would garner such a reward."_

" _Just thought you might be interested," the gunslinger answers, an almost invisible smile tugging at his lips._

_Buck barks out a laugh, slapping his long-term friend on the shoulder. "I keep tryin' to tell people you're not as mean as you pretend to be. This here just proves it!"_

" _Buck," Chris warns, with no real malice in his voice._

_Vin, who until now has been casually observing, quietly asks Ezra, "When do ya leave?"_

_Ezra looks back down at the letter. "Good lord," he murmurs "Today! If I am to arrive in Jefferson City in time for the first match, I must depart immediately!"_

" _I'll see to the horses," Chris states._

"' _Horses,' as in multiple?" the Southerner asks._

" _Yup, goin' with you. Promised the judge I'd keep you outta trouble."_

_Ezra ponders this for only a second before seeming to come to a decision. He merely nods before saying, "Then I shall gather the necessary provisions for two."_

" _Need a hand?" Josiah asks._

" _That would be most appreciated. In fact, if we are to leave in a timely manner, might I ask the lot of you for your assistance?"_

_They each nod and without a word of explanation among them, Vin, Josiah, Nathan, Buck, and JD scatter in varying directions to obtain whatever traveling gear their friends might need. Chris turns to head to the livery when a subtle cough from Ezra stops him. He turns back to the gambler expectantly, watching him fidget uncharacteristically for a few brief seconds before he finds his voice._

" _Mr. Larabee, I wish to offer my thanks to you for providing me with this golden opportunity. I swear on the grave of…no, rather I give you my personal word that I will not cause one ounce of trouble for you on this venture. That is the best promise I can offer."_

" _Your personal word?" The gunslinger watches as Ezra nods, his features expressing nothing but dead seriousness. "Then I see no reason to doubt it."_

_Ezra beams, ready to offer his token tip-of-the-hat when he sheepishly realizes he is still holding onto his forgotten cigar. With a grin, he twirls it effortlessly between his fingers, making it disappear into his jacket pocket faster than Chris's eyes can follow; then, with his now unhindered salute, he turns and walks away._


	2. Chapter 2

"Hot damn!" Buck exclaims as he pushes through the batwing doors. "A twister blow through here?"

Ezra ducks his head as he carefully picks cards out of the glass on the floor. Chris steps out of the back room with a broom in hand, giving Buck a quick salutary nod.

"Man needed to blow off some steam," the gunslinger explains with a glance at the gambler.

"Well, hell, it's about damn time, but did ya have to go and do it here? Inez is likely to kill ya when she gets back tomorrow morning."

Ezra raises his head, a touch of panic flashing in his eyes. Chris places a hand on the Southerner's shoulder, shooting Buck a hard look.

"She won't hear about it," the gunslinger says, both as an assurance and as a warning.

Buck grabs the broom from Chris. "Then I guess I'd better help ya clean this place up. There's no way the two of you are gettin' it done alone before morning." He turns to a corner and begins sweeping up some of the debris. After a few minutes of working quietly, he asks Ezra, "So what finally set you off?"

"Maude," Chris answers.

"Huh…Shoulda taken bets," Buck echoes his friend's earlier comment.

Standish shakes his head, laughing. Chris and Buck exchange a smile as they turn back to their work. Buck whistles out a tune, and within a few moments, the gambler begins to hum along. Seeing something sticking out from behind the bar, Buck stoops down and comes back up with Ezra's hat.

"Got your hat, pard," he announces with a smile, but his carefree attitude is suddenly wiped away by a familiar memory.

* * *

_Buck steps into the crowded two-story saloon, searching over the heads of onlookers, players, and referees. Several poker tables are crammed into both levels of the building, the players donning focused faces and the audience members sporting smiles. Behind the bar, a man is busy tallying scores across a large mounted blackboard while the bartenders try their best to keep up with the patrons. At the end of the bar, barely noticeable in a shadowed corner, Buck spots his dark-clad friend. Offering apologies, he pushes his way through the saloon until he is finally aside the gunslinger._

" _Been like this the whole time?" he shouts above the many voices echoing through the gaming hall, merely getting an annoyed huff from Larabee in return. "Where's Ezra?"_

_Chris tilts his head to the top floor and Buck looks up to see Standish standing by a table against the back wall, watching intently as six players call their hands. With a sharp whistle, he catches the attention of the scorekeeper, holding up first three fingers, then one, then six. Nodding, the man at the board marks down "$300" beside the number "16." He looks back up to see Ezra guide a somber man from the table, holding his fingers up in a three and a five. Turning back to the board, a thick line is crossed through the number "35." Buck watches as a man from another table shuffles over to fill in the newly vacant seat. Ezra takes the cards from the previous dealer, shuffles the deck, and places them before the new player. With a nod of his head, he signals the man to begin the new round before stepping back against the wall where he can clearly observe each player's moves._

" _Looks okay to me!" Buck shouts. "What'd he do?"_

_Chris shakes his head, then looks towards the back door of the saloon. Motioning for Buck to follow him out, he glances up at the gambler one more time before leading the way out of the cacophony._

" _Wasn't him," Larabee explains once he can talk freely without having to raise his voice. "Kept true to his word. Didn't even complain on the trail."_

" _Doesn't surprise me," Buck grins. "This place must be what he imagines Heaven to look like. He wouldn't want to risk screwin' up his chances to come here."_

_Chris grins. "He's in his element."_

" _So where's the fire?" Buck asks. "Your message said there was trouble."_

_Frowning, the gunslinger explains. "You see the numbers on the board crossed off in red?" He waits for Buck to nod before continuing. "They were caught cheating - thrown out of the building and their names added to some list so they can't come back. Twenty-seven names so far. Ezra caught nineteen. Some of 'em weren't even at his table."_

_Buck lets out a long whistle. "Makes for a lot of angry folk. Gotten some threats I gather?"_

" _More than I'm comfortable with. Officials are practically kissing his feet though. Moved him up to the top tables this morning. Stakes are higher up there."_

" _The tempers too, I bet," Buck comments. "Nineteen men already mad at him and two more days left of the tournament. Ya think there's time to send for the others? If they move fast enough, they might just get here before it's over."_

_Chris shakes his head. "If I'd known he was movin' upstairs, I would've. Man's too damn good at his job."_

" _Shoot, Chris, isn't that why you recommended him in the first place?" Buck notes with a smile._

" _Yeah…don't know what I was thinking," Chris sighs. "I want you upstairs with him. I'll keep an eye on the doors."_

_With a nod of the head, Buck makes his back into the chaos, barely managing to maneuver his way up the stairs. Quietly, he sidles up beside Ezra, taking a relaxed position against the wall._

" _Mr. Wilmington," the Southerner drawls, never taking his eyes off the game, "would you be so kind as to locate my hat? I left it hanging on that row of hooks beside you, and as you can see, it now appears to be absent. I'm hoping there was a simple error in judgment and one of the gentlemen hereabouts absconded with it quite by accident."_

" _You want me to find a gambler's hat in a saloon full of gamblers?" Buck asks incredulously._

" _I'm rather fond of that particular accessory. My initials are embroidered into the silk lining of the crown."_

" _I have to look_ inside _every hat?"_

" _Certainly not, Mr. Wilmington," Standish smiles mischievously. "Just the ones that resemble my own."_

_Buck looks around the building at the sea of black hats. With an annoyed shake of the head, he sets off to do as he is asked, pausing as Ezra signals the scorekeeper again. He watches as the man scratches off yet another number – in white chalk – before he continues on his way. The players at Ezra's table shift like they had before, the newest to the table taking up the roll as dealer. They play through several hands, with Buck slowly making his way around the floor checking hats. He is about to head back, empty-handed, when he spots one more familiar-looking hat hanging off the back of a chair._

" _Excuse me, sir?" Buck asks, tapping the gentleman on the shoulder. "Sorry to interrupt your game, but can I see your hat?"_

_At first, the man gives him a confused look, then seems to realize what the mustached man is referring to. "Oh, yes, of course, sir. The hat is not actually mine. It was already here when I sat down."_

_Eagerly, Buck scoops it up and turns it over, smiling as he sees the delicately scrawled "EPS" sewn into the fabric. "Got your hat, pard!" he shouts excitedly, turning just in time to watch as the newest dealer to Ezra's table shoves the gambler, hard, right into the row of golden coat-hooks lining the wall._


	3. Chapter 3

Nathan blinks away sleep as a light knocking filters from outside his door. He listens for a second, noting the lack of urgency in the sound, and groans as he swipes a hand down his face. After a moment's hesitation, the knocking starts again. Nathan sighs and throws back the covers.

"This better be important," he grumbles as he makes his way to his lantern, turning up the little flame. A third knock, this one a little louder, echoes through the clinic. "Hold on, I'm comin'!" Nathan hollers, then adds to himself, "At least let a man wake up some."

Stumbling a little on his way to the door, he pulls it open to be greeted with a dimpled smile from the town's resident cardsharp. The gambler gives him a friendly salute, to which Nathan just shakes his head.

"A little late for a visit, isn't it?" the healer points out.

Ezra's eyebrows twitch up, making his smile a more apologetic one as he holds out his right hand. A handkerchief is wrapped around his palm and Nathan can see the blood seeping into the cloth. The healer tsks at the sight.

"Can't I go a day without stitching one of you fools up?" he asks, his voice soft.

Ezra shrugs and is about to step into the clinic at Nathan's invitation when a loud crash is heard from the saloon. A half second later, they hear another, along with some quickly escalating voices.

"What are those two fightin' over now?" Nathan asks.

Ezra rolls his eyes before holding up the injured hand again, pointing to it.

"Can that wait?" the healer continues. "We should stop those idiots before I have three patients on my hands."

Nodding, Ezra follows the ex-slave back down to the saloon where they are greeted with Chris and Buck in a wrestling match on the floor. Several of the previously righted tables are back down on their sides, the cards Ezra had already picked up scattered around the room, and the broom broken clean in half flung into a corner. The healer rushes in, wrenching Chris up while Ezra presses his good hand against Buck to keep him down.

Angrily, Nathan states, "I thought you two were done with this nonsense. Or do I need to remind you what happened last time?"

* * *

_Riding into town hard, Nathan virtually throws himself from the saddle, hitting the ground at a run with his bag in hand. He doesn't even look back to see Josiah riding up behind, silently acknowledging the appointed responsibility of seeing to the horses._

" _Where's the doctor's place?" the healer nearly shouts at the first person he sees on the street. Startled, the man points to his right, hastily giving directions. Without thanking him, Nathan takes off around the corner and comes across a well-kept building, a fancy sign hanging from the porch indicating it to be the place he is seeking. Rushing forward, he flings the door open, scanning the large room as he catches his breath. Much larger than his own clinic, he feels a sense of helplessness as he notices the curtained partitions blocking his view from any patients inside._

" _Over here, Nate," he hears Buck call softly, allowing a moment of relief to flood over him as he sees the mustached man peering from around one of the thick cloths. Taking in a deep breath, Nathan readies himself for what else he may find behind that curtain before quietly making his way across the room._

" _Made damn good time," Buck practically whispers as he steps back, making room for the healer beside the bed._

_As Nathan steps around the partition, his face drops as he looks upon his friend lying on the mattress, the gambler looking for all the world like he is merely taking a peaceful afternoon nap._

" _He's been like this for a day and a half?" he asks. Buck nods. "That doctor get any water into him?" - to which Buck sadly shakes his head - "Then it don't really matter how good my time was."_

_Buck looks at the ex-slave in alarm. "Are you sayin' he ain't gonna make it?"_

_Nathan holds up a hand. "I'm sayin' if he don't get some water into him soon, he'll dehydrate before we can do anything else to help him." He looks quizzically at Ezra's sleeping form, furrowing his brow. "Why isn't he bandaged?"_

" _Doc stitched him up good, but he couldn't figure a way to wrap him without covering half his face. Said that hook got him clean at the base of his skull." – Nathan winces – "God, Nate, he just dropped like a sack o' feed…and the blood…"_

" _Wouldn'ta happened if you were doin' your damn job," Larabee hisses as he steps around to the other side of the bed._

" _I was just doin' him a favor," Buck explains dejectedly._

" _Since when is gettin' a man nearly killed doin' him a favor?" Chris snaps back. "Might as well have not been there at all, for all the good you did."_

" _For all the good-?" Buck catches his volume before his voice gets too loud. "That man was about to shoot him! I at least stopped that!"_

" _If ya'll are gonna argue, you can just leave now," Nathan interrupts. "He don't need you fightin' over the top of him."_

_Gently turning the Southerner's head to the side, Nathan inspects the neat stitches holding closed what looks to have been a small gash. The wound appears to be almost perfectly placed at the exact point where his skull pivots on his neck. Unconsciously, the ex-slave rubs at the back of his own neck as he repositions Ezra's head more comfortably on the pillow._

" _Nathan?" Chris asks, his voice etched with worry._

" _Doctor probably told you everything you need to know," Nathan answers. "He's been taken care of proper, but there's not much more anyone can do. I can't even tell ya'll if this damaged his head, his spine, both, or if he'll just wake up with nothing more than a sore neck…If we wakes up at all."_

_The gunslinger's lips set in a firm line at Nathan's last words. Glaring daggers at Buck, he growls out, "You left him."_

" _He asked me to!" Buck defends._

" _And I told you to watch him!" Chris nearly shouts._

" _And where the hell were you, huh?" Buck hisses, pressing in close. "Watching the doors? When I got here, you were milling around by the bar! Hell, for all I know, if I hadn't showed up poor Ez woulda just been shot like a lame horse while you were enjoying a bottle of whiskey!"_

_With an enraged yell, Larabee reaches around the end of the bed, grabbing hold of Buck's jacket and spinning him around into the partition. The curtains come down on top of the pair, impeding their struggle but doing little else to quell the fight. Nathan attempts to break them apart, but only succeeds in getting tangled in the white material, himself._

_A man rushes towards the flurry of swinging fists and kicking legs, begging for them to stop. For his efforts, he earns a hard hit to the face, knocking him dazed to the floor._

" _ENOUGH!" a booming voice bellows._

_All motion stops as the preacher steps into the building. The downed man recovers his senses first, regaining his feet in a flustered motion as his bruising face turns two shades of red._

" _Out!" he hollers. "I want you out of my clinic, now!"_

_Nathan untangles himself from the mess. "You heard the man," he spits at Chris and Buck, shoving them towards the door before they even get themselves completely free of the curtains, "and don't you come back in here until you're through blamin' each other."_

" _I want_ all _of you out," the doctor seethes, pointing at the sleeping man, as well, "and take him with you!"_

_Nathan stops moving, shooting the doctor a flabbergasted look. "You can't expect us to move him! He's in no condition to-"_

" _I don't care! Never wanted this damn tournament in our town, anyhow! Filled our streets with nothin' but gamblers and cheats, and filled my clinic with more patients than I can handle. If him bein' here's gonna cause me more trouble than I already got, then I want him out!"_

_Nathan begins to protest again, but stops when the preacher lays a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Man's made up his mind, brother," Josiah says calmly. "I'll get Ezra. I assume he's got a hotel room somewhere?" He flashes a questioning look at Chris._

_The gunslinger nods, keeping his eyes downcast to the floor. "I'll take you there," he mumbles._

_The big man gently scoops Ezra up into his arms, glaring at Buck, Chris, and the doctor as he makes his wait out of the clinic, cradling his burden close to his chest._


	4. Chapter 4

Josiah slowly rides back into town, smiling as he notices the lights still on within the saloon. As he dismounts and ties Prophet up to the post, his smile ebbs away as he takes on the sight within. On one side of the jumbled room sits the dark-clad gunslinger, arms folded across his chest; on the opposite side, Buck taps a finger angrily on his table, scrunching his face up in an angry, child-like pout. At a center table, Nathan is busy tying off a bandage around Ezra's hand.

The preacher looks up to the sky before entering, asking, "Lord, why do you take such pleasure in testing my patience?"

Everyone in the saloon looks at Josiah as he steps into the building, instantly noting his irritated demeanor as he takes in the sight of sheer destruction. Irritation turns to anger and he turns his gaze onto Buck and Chris. Before he can open his mouth, however, his attention is caught by someone snapping a finger. He turns towards the noise, seeing the gambler drop his hand. Patiently, he waits as Standish indicates himself, then points around the room at the shambles.

"You did this?" the big man asks, surprised. "Why?"

In unison, the other three men in the saloon sigh out, "Maude."

"Ah," Josiah simply states in understanding; then to Chris and Buck, "So why've you two been sent to the corner then? And what happened to Ezra's hand?"

"Buck." Larabee says by way of explanation.

"Now hold on," Buck retorts, "If you hadn't-"

"What'd I say, huh?" Nathan scolds. "I don't wanna hear another word from either one of ya'll." He turns an exasperated look to Josiah. "You see what I been dealin' with? They can't even stop arguing long enough to tell me what happened."

At this, Ezra sighs and stands up, offering Josiah his vacated seat. He holds up his pointer fingers on both hands as he glances back and forth between Chris and Buck. Shaking one hand in thought, he walks over to the man in black, quickly snatching the man's hat off his head. Curious, Larabee raises an eyebrow at the action but says nothing. Next, the cardsharp paces across the room and likewise motions for Buck to hand over _his_ hat, who obliges with equal curiosity. Returning to the center of the room, Standish trades his hat for Wilmington's and points towards the broken broom. Once everyone has acknowledged the object and turned their attention back to him, Ezra points to himself, points to Buck, points back to the broom, then holds his hands out as if he is gripping a broom handle. He begins miming the act of sweeping the floor, puckering his lips out as if he is whistling and bobbing his head to some invisible tune. After a few seconds, he holds his "broom" out in front of him, stares at it for a moment, then begins to twirl around with it as if he is dancing. Josiah barks out a laugh as Ezra makes exaggerated kissy faces towards his invisible broom/dance partner.

With a sudden stop, the Southerner holds up one finger again, then swaps Buck's hat out for Chris's. His facial expression instantly shifts to a cold, stony look as he pulls the hat brim down further over his eyes. Moving a few paces back, he turns towards a downed table by the bar and lifts it back onto his legs. Turning back around, he jerks back a step as if he's run into some invisible wall, and scowls.

Lightening quick, the gambler dons the brown hat again, relaxing his posture and putting on a big grin. He stands as if face-to-face with his interpretation of Larabee and opens his arms out wide, lifting his shoulders into a big shrug and throwing a little wink back at his audience. Nathan smiles and shakes his head while Josiah continues to laugh. A grin begins to surface beneath Buck's mustache while the slightest twitch can be seen on the gunslinger's lips.

Stepping back into Chris's role, Ezra brings up his fist and shakes it wildly at the invisible Buck. Making his face look even angrier, he then points his finger down to an area across the room where there is still broken glass strewn about. Shaking his head as if the invisible Buck has tried to protest, he snaps his finger and points again.

Putting on Buck's hat once more, Ezra slumps his shoulders and drags his "broom" over the glass, sighing loudly as he "sweeps" the floor in a heavy-hearted fashion. He sniffles once and wipes at his eye, barely managing to keep his smile in check as Larabee lets out a snort from across the room.

Freezing in place as he sets his "broom" out an angle beside his body, Standish makes a point to stress the position of the invisible object. Holding up that one finger again for a brief second, he walks back over to retrieve his own hat off the table where he left it, putting it on and moving into a spot directly behind the place where he had establish the "broom" to be. He squats down, turning back once more to signal with his hands the position of the supposed stick, before he begins picking up some of the cards. Without warning, he abruptly stands and takes a step back, making a show to trip over the invisible encumbrance. He cartwheels his arms comically in the air for a few seconds before allowing himself to hit the ground in a controlled fall. In the process, he mimics sliding his injured hand across the glass on the floor, then holds up the bandaged appendage clearly for everyone to see.

Standing up, Ezra quickly points to himself, to Buck, to Chris, then to his hand before simply shrugging.

Josiah and Nathan clap their hands, both men almost in tears at the little display. Buck adds his own applause and, between laughs, says, "Yup, I guess you got that about right, pard." Chris rolls his eyes, but doesn't try to suppress his smile. Ezra takes a little bow before tossing Buck's hat back to the man with his left hand while simultaneously flipping Chris's back with his right, flinging it beneath his outstretched arm. Both men catch their hats easily.

"So, from what I understand," Josiah gets out once he's calmed his laughter, "Ezra had a little accident, you're all equally to blame, and you two decided that was reason enough to start a fight?"

Buck and Chris look away from the preacher sheepishly.

"Just didn't like him gettin' hurt again is all," Chris mumbles.

"And on our watch, too," Buck adds.

Ezra throws up a hand in annoyance. He points to all of them while shaking his head, then points at his eyes, then taps his chest.

"He's right," Nathan agrees. "Just 'cause he can't speak doesn't mean he needs us hoverin' over him, especially you two."

The gambler gives Nathan an incredulous look.

"What?" the healer asks self-consciously. "It's been damn near two months. I know a healthy man when I see one. I have folk who're actually sick that need lookin' after; I don't need to be watchin' over you."

With a satisfied smile, Ezra habitually pulls out his pocket watch and glances at the time. The smile quickly disappears, and he holds up the watch for the others to see.

"What's wrong now?" Josiah asks.

Buck jumps up. "It's near mornin' already! We gotta get this place back in shape!"

"Inez." Chris adds, standing up to help Ezra who has already begun to frantically clean again.

Josiah looks to Nathan. "Guess we may as well help out," he smiles.

"We better, or she's likely to thump us too just for bein' here," Nathan responds.

Hastily, the five men work as one unit to get the bar back in order, glancing out the windows to see the first streaks of light spreading across the dark sky.


	5. Chapter 5

Exhausted, the five lawmen plop unceremoniously into their chairs at their favored table. Ezra puffs out his cheeks as he blows out a long breath, then smiles as he looks around the room. The saloon is completely back in order; spotless, even, with no signs left of the night's chaos.

"I need a drink," Josiah announces. "In fact, that's what I came in here for in the first place, not to play maid."

"Somethin' happen on patrol? Noticed you were late comin' back." Chris points out as he gets up to grab a bottle and some shot glasses.

"Somethin'," Josiah confirms with a smile, downing the liquid relief that was placed in front of him.

"Anything I need to worry about?" Chris casually asks, throwing back his shot.

Josiah's grin grows even wider. "Not unless you want to help Vin round up the last of Henderson's missing cattle."

Buck laughs, choking a little on his own drink, "I told Jake that fence was gonna go soon."

"And away it went," the preacher continues. "He spent the better part of the night chasing his damn cows into his corral. Poor man was covered head to toe in mud by the time I rode by his place. Helped him as much as I could in the dark, lost track of the time, I guess. Vin came and found me, sent me back home to rest up. I told Jake I'd come back by later to help him fix the fence."

Sipping at his own glass, Nathan looks up at his friend. "Gonna need a hand, I suppose?"

"Excellent idea, brother Nate, never would've thought to ask," the preacher winks, reaching for the bottle. As he pulls it back to him, he glances at the gambler who is staring at his untouched glass, his expression one of someone who is trying to weigh options.

"Ezra," Josiah says, his voice soft and sympathetic.

The Southerner meets Josiah's gaze, his jaw setting in stubborn determination. Without looking away from the big man, he reaches for his glass and shoots it back. Immediately, he coughs and sputters, dribbling half the liquid back down onto the table. As he regains his composure, none of the other men move from their seats. They don't look at him, don't say anything to him, don't even seem to acknowledge the fact that anything happened.

Chris leans back in his chair. "What time you headed out with JD?" he asks.

Buck looks at the growing brightness of the morning sky. "Reckon I should be haulin' his butt outta bed about now. Anyone wanna come watch me wake'm up?"

"Might be fun," the gunslinger responds, flashing one of his rare mischievous grins. "Boys," he says, tipping his hat at the others before heading out of the saloon with Buck.

Nathan stands up. "I think I'm gonna go get me some real breakfast," he announces. "Anyone want anything?"

"I'm good with this," Josiah grins, holding up the bottle.

"I'll bring you back some eggs," Nathan sighs. "Ezra? How 'bout you?"

Ezra, who has kept his eyes glued firmly to the mess on the table, looks at the healer with a polite smile and a small head shake. He lets out a sigh as the ex-slave makes his way over to the restaurant. Josiah stands up, walks over to grab a rag from behind the bar, and returns to clean up the spilled liquid. Ezra ducks his face again, a slight flush coming to his cheeks.

"It's all right, son," Josiah says gently. "No need to be embarrassed." He freezes for a second, flinching at his own words.

* * *

_Buck enters the hotel room, quietly shutting the door behind him. Josiah glances up at him, then goes back to reading his book while Nathan drips water slowly into Ezra's slack mouth. Frustrated, the healer sits back into his chair._

" _Can't get him to swallow," he mumbles._

" _Well, we got a whole other problem," Buck nervously reveals. Josiah and Nathan look at him expectantly. Stumbling over the next few words, the ladies' man says, "Chris…uh…well, he's…he.."_

" _Spit it out, Buck, we don't got all day," Nathan harrumphs._

" _He done got himself arrested."_

" _Oh good Lord," the preacher curses._

" _It wasn't exactly his fault," Buck quickly fires out. "He was just tryin' to get what those tournament fellas owed Ezra. They said they weren't gonna pay him his whole cut since he didn't finish the job."_

" _What?" Josiah nearly yells, knocking his book to the floor as he stands. "He almost got killed for their damn game! I'll set 'em straight."_

_Buck holds his hands out to stop the man. "Now, hold on, Josiah, that's just the kinda thinkin' that got Chris locked up. Well, thinkin' and actin'. I think he broke the big guy's nose." He grins wickedly._

" _Good, then that's one less man I have to worry about. One way or another, I'm getting Ezra's cut," Josiah growls, shoving Buck aside._

" _Josiah, wait!" Nathan suddenly calls out. The preacher and ladies' man turn to see Nathan hovering over a now-moving form in the bed. "I think he's comin' around."_

_All anger forgotten, Buck and Josiah rush to the bedside, holding their breaths and willing the gambler to wake up with their hope-filled eyes. With a sharp little gasp and a soft moan, Ezra turns his head to one side and slowly flutters open his eyes._

" _Hallelujah!" Buck whoops._

" _Ezra, can you hear me?" Nathan asks, gently turning his patient's head so he can see his face._

_Ezra blinks a few times in confusion, glancing around at the three eager, worried men surrounding his bed. He squeezes his eyes shut again, a pained look flashing across his face. When he opens them, some of the fogginess appears to have left his vision, and he turns to fix his gaze on the healer. He opens his mouth to speak, but only a small, whispered whimper comes out._

" _Don't try to talk yet," Nathan orders, reaching for the water glass. "Here, you need to drink some of this."_

_Josiah carefully helps the weakened man sit up some, Buck quick to prop up the pillows behind him. Ezra closes his eyes again, letting a moan escape his lips._

_Nathan taps his shoulder. "I'll get ya somethin' for the pain in a minute, but first you gotta have some water."_

_Nodding, Ezra opens his eyes and leans forward just a bit more as Nathan brings the cup to his mouth. As the glass tips, the gambler's brow furrows in concentration. Through his nose, he snorts out a little frustrated, bewildered breath. Pulling his head back away from the cup, water pouring from his mouth, he shoots panicked eyes up at Nathan._

" _Dammit, Ezra, you didn't get any of that down," the healer gently scolds._

_Looking even more afraid, Standish tilts his head up, his jaw twitching slightly. After a few seconds of an apparent struggle, he shakes his head._

" _What's wrong, son?" Josiah asks._

_The gambler reaches up to his throat, shaking his head again, his breathing getting faster as his eyes become wider._

" _He can't swallow," Nathan realizes, to which Ezra curtly nods his head._

" _What'll we do?" Buck asks in alarm. "He needs that water, Nate."_

" _All right, hold on," the healer orders, "everyone needs to calm down. Ezra, listen to me, I'm gonna help ya, but you gotta relax." – the Southerner nods again, more slowly this time, and attempts to get himself back under control. – "We're gonna lay you back some and I want you tilt your back, just like you did a second ago."_

_Josiah settles the injured man further back into the pillows, watching as Nathan pulls a clean rag from his bag. He takes a corner of the cloth and soaks it in the water before bringing it up to the gambler's lips._

" _Put this in your mouth now," the healer encourages. After a moment's hesitation, Ezra complies as Nathan continues talking soothingly to him. "Try to relax…There, that's better. Now I want you to hold your breath for a few seconds, and don't tense up when I touch ya."_

_Nathan waits until he sees Ezra take in and hold a breath, then very gently begins to massage the muscles in the Southerner's neck. After a few seconds, reflexes react and the muscles move beneath his fingers. Shutting his eyes, Ezra lets out the breath in a relieved sigh._

" _There, see?" Nathan smiles. "You went too many days without water. Your throat's probably just a bit raw. Once we get you hydrated, you'll probably be fine."_

_Ezra arches an eyebrow at the healer._

" _I agree," Josiah states. "Isn't that a few too many 'probables'?"_

_Nathan shoots a cold glare at the preacher, but his anger just as quickly deflates. He wets the cloth again and repeats the process of helping Ezra to swallow. "I don't know," he finally says. "I don't know what to tell ya'll. You took a bad hit, Ezra, there could be some side effects. This might be one of 'em."_

_Buck notes the panicked look returning to the gambler's eyes. "Well, hell, Ez," he says with forced perkiness, "I'm sure it's just like Nate said – you just need to hydrate. And I can see ya movin' your legs under the blanket, and your arms seem to work just fine."_

_Josiah jumps in, "You obviously know who we are…right?" - Ezra grins a little around the wet cloth and nods. – "So you still have your wits about you, and we all know how important_ that _is."_

_Nathan pulls back the cloth to re-wet it, trailing a small amount of liquid out of Ezra's mouth. The water swiftly glides across the Southerner's cheek, pooling a little in his hair. With an appalled look, he reaches up and tries to wipe away the offending liquid with his hand._

" _Toss me another rag, Nate," the preacher requests. Once retrieved, he uses it to dry the damp spot from the gambler's hair, noting the redness forming on the man's cheeks. "It's alright, son," he smiles. "No need to be embarrassed. I'm sure in a few days, when you're busy trying to convince mother Nathan that you're right as rain, we won't even remember any of this happened."_


	6. Chapter 6

"Dammit, Buck!" JD's voice carries into the saloon.

Ezra and Josiah raise an eyebrow at each other before both stand and rush outside to see what their resident ladies' man has done. As they step onto the boardwalk, JD nearly runs into them as he's rushing past, wearing his shirt loose and with his trousers hastily pulled up. As he looks up at them, Ezra fails to hold in his laugh.

"It ain't funny!" JD snaps.

"That's a good look for you, son," Josiah smiles.

The kid scowls at him, making his face that much more comical with the thick black, painted-on eyebrows, the long curly mustache, and the tiny triangle goatee. Ezra laughs even harder, slapping JD hard on the arm, which causes the young sheriff to drop the bundle of clothes he is carrying. Too late, JD tries to tuck his hands behind his back, but the gambler sees the move and easily snatches up a wrist. With an amused grin, he inspects the little inked pictures of stick-figure horses covering the kid's hand, and the blackened fingernails. A tug on the sleeve reveals more pictures to be drawn all the way up the young sheriff's arm.

"Kid sleeps almost as sound as you do, Ez," Buck hollers from up the street, the seven's leader casually strolling behind him.

JD tries to pull away from the Southerner, but Standish holds him in place, pointing at the drawings then back at Buck.

"Nah," the mustached man grins as he comes to a stop in front of them. "I did the face and the nails. Those horses are Chris's handy work."

Gambler and preacher both express their surprise, and delight, towards the normally somber gunslinger. In return, he merely pulls his hat down lower over his eyes, failing to hide the sly smile beneath the brim's shadow.

JD finally wrenches away from the cardsharp, gathering up his clothing. "Coulda just woke me up," he mumbles angrily. "Now I gotta take a bath. We're gonna be late!"

Josiah cocks his head. "Why can't you go like that? You can just wash up in the stream."

"Like hell!" the kid shouts. "People might see me on the way outta town!"

"Besides," Buck adds, "might scare the fish away if he goes like that."

"Shut up, Buck!" JD spits out, shoving his makeshift older brother with one hand. Buck lightly shoves him back, causing the kid to come at him even harder. Buck's return shove knocks the kid off balance, sending him back towards the saloon step. Only the cardsharp's quick hands keep JD from stumbling off the boardwalk, latching onto his upper arm and hauling him back to his feet.

"Sorry, kid, didn't mean to push ya so hard. You all right?" Buck asks, all humor gone from his voice.

"Yeah, I'm fine," JD mutters, "thanks to Ezra." He sighs at the gambler before adding, "Again."

* * *

" _I can't believe they got kicked outta town," JD shakes his head, talking more to himself than to Vin. "They're supposed to be the responsible ones!...Well, maybe not Buck. Always tellin' me to grow up – he acts like a kid way more than me!... Shouldn't we have met up with them by now? How far outta town do ya think they got?"_

_Vin sighs patiently. "Hard ta say. Prob'ly have ta move slow 'cause 'a Ez."_

" _Ya think he's all right?"_

_The tracker considers the question for a moment before responding. "Reckon so. I don't think Nathan would risk movin' 'im if he weren't fit to travel."_

_JD frowns. "Yeah, but they got kicked outta town. I don't think they had a choice. What do ya think they did, anyway?"_

" _JD," Vin starts, his patience ebbing, when something in the distance catches his eye. Pulling out his scope, he studies the speck on the horizon for a bit before his face lights up with a smile. "Ask 'em yourself, kid," he says, then spurs Peso into a gallop._

_By the time they reach the wagon, the sun is setting low in the sky and Larabee's group is busy setting up camp. After tossing down a pile of wood for the fire, Chris straightens up and glares at the incoming riders._

" _Thought I said to wait in town," the gunslinger snarls._

" _Ah, the town's fine, Chris," JD waves him off. "We figured with half of Jefferson City after you guys, it'd be better if we came out here."_

_Chris looks to Vin, who merely gives him a one-armed shrug. "Kid had a point," he says casually, then dismounts._

_JD hops to the ground, taking Toby and Peso back to where the rest of the horses are tied behind the wagon. As he walks past, he peers inside in time to see Nathan and Josiah settling Ezra down into his straw bed. The gambler seems to fall asleep as soon as his head touches the pillow._

" _How's he doin'?" the young sheriff whispers._

" _Shouldn't be out here," Nathan grumbles, looking not at JD but at Josiah._

_The preacher shrugs. "We got his money."_

_Nathan's scowl becomes deeper. "Lotta good that's gonna do him when he kills himself fallin' off his damn horse."_

" _He was ridin'?" JD asks, stunned._

" _Not really," the healer snorts. "Buck had one arm on him almost the whole way. He was asleep in the saddle more than he was awake."_

" _Look on the bright side," Josiah smiles, "at least he can drink his own water again."_

" _Barely, and he only started doin' that this mornin'. Throat's still buggin' him too much to talk. Man should be in bed at least another week, not ridin' around through the desert."_

" _His throat?" JD interrupts. "I thought he hit his head."_

_The preacher sighs. "It's complicated, JD. Come on, let's get those horses tied and go sit by the fire, let Ezra get some sleep."_

_As JD and Josiah settle around the camp, Buck walks over to them, holding up a few rabbits. He slaps JD's hat off his head with a smile, asking, "What're you doin' here, kid?"_

" _Just makin' sure you guys get home in one piece."_

" _Sure, like we really need_ your _help," Buck laughs._

" _Yeah, well, looks to me like you guys haven't done real well on your own so far," JD counters, seeing the firelight shine on Buck's purple left eye._

" _Ya got me there, pard," Buck frowns. "But it ain't like we were gunnin' for trouble. With Chris in jail-"_

" _Chris was in jail? What for?" the sheriff asks, his eyes wide._

" _Guess the tournament officials were holdin' out on Ezra's pay," Vin answers for the gunslinger, apparently already having heard this part of the story and noting the way the man in black keeps rubbing his jaw. "Guess he didn't take too kindly to that."_

" _Anyway, as I was sayin'," Buck continues, "I went to try to get Chris out, and when I was explainin' to the sheriff what happened, that little weasel that tried to kill Ezra started spoutin' off about how Ez was riggin' the game and didn't deserve_ any _pay."_

" _Buck didn't take too kindly to_ that _," Vin interjects._

" _Nope," Buck shakes his head. "and neither did Chris. Just our luck, the rat was standin' in the corner of his cell where both of us could reach him."_

" _Luck?" Josiah grunts. "Got you locked up right alongside our fearless leader."_

" _Like you did much better," the ladies' man points out. "While we were stuck in the henhouse, he was payin' another visit to those stuck-up tournament folk. You shoulda seen that saloon by the time he was done with it."_

_Nathan finally joins the men around the fire, accepting the coffee mug that Josiah hands out to him. JD notices a few cuts on the preacher's hands and more than a few bruised knuckles._

" _Yeah, tore hisself up right along with," the healer adds. "Then got thrown in jail with the two o' them."_

" _Along with Ezra's pay," the preacher grins._

_Chris speaks up. "And left Nate and Ez on their own," he frowns._

" _What happened?" JD asks._

" _One of those men Ez tossed outta the game came gunnin' for him," Nathan explains. "Musta figured with these three in jail, wouldn't be much of a problem. Brought a couple guys with him. I couldn't 'a taken 'em on my own, but Ezra jumped right in and helped fight 'em off. He did real good, but he sure as hell didn't need the extra damage done to him."_

" _Neither did you," Josiah points out, lifting Nathan's sleeve slightly to reveal a bandaged arm._

" _Neither did that hotel," Buck points out. "You boys sure wrecked that room…And the hallway…And the next room..."_

_Vin pokes at the rabbits cooking over the fire. "Hotel manager didn't take too kindly to_ that. _"_

_JD looks at Nathan. "Did you get thrown in-"_

" _Yup," Buck grins. "Ezra, too. All five us of in one cell, and the four crooks who came after Ezra in the other cell. And before you say it, Vin,_ nobody _took too kindly to that."_

" _Especially when Ezra took to gettin' sick all over the floor," Nathan grimaces._

" _Yeesh. So, how'd ya end up out here?" the young sheriff asks._

" _Well," Josiah leans back, "with seein' poor Ez curled up, sick and hurtin' on that old cot and no one to blame but ourselves and our neighbors, things got a little…heated."_

_Chris snorts out a laugh._

" _Hell, Josiah, we damn near beat the snot outta each other," Buck chuckles. "I'd hate to see your version of_ really _heated."_

" _All in all," Nathan continues with the story, "between what happened with Ezra at the tournament,-"_

" _-the doc's place,-" Buck adds._

" _-the jail-" Chris puts in._

" _-twice,-" Josiah points out._

" _-the hotel,-" Vin says._

" _-and twice with the guys holdin' Ezra's money,-" JD comments._

" _-the sheriff decided we just weren't worth the trouble," Nathan finishes up. "Unlocked that cell and told us all to get the hell outta his jail, and get the hell outta his town."_

_After a slight hesitation, JD asks, "…So, you guys aren't still fightin', are ya?"_

" _Don't look like it," Vin points out._

" _The stablehand took pity on our misguided souls," Josiah explains, "let us hole up in the livery overnight. We almost got into it again when I guess Ezra decided he'd had enough of our nonsense."_

_Chris grins. "Had some pretty good hand gestures for 'knock it off.'"_

" _That he did, brother," Josiah smiles. "Anyway, made us all realize how foolish we'd been acting. 'Shameful' was the word he spelled out in the dirt, and he was right. We all have some penance to pay after the last few days."_

_JD whistles. "Man, poor Ezra. All that over a stupid poker tournament."_

_Nathan sighs. "Man seems to get himself into trouble even when he doesn't go lookin' for it. Course, most of the time the rest of us don't get so banged up savin' him from it."_

" _Been a bad week," Chris nods._

_A bullet suddenly plows into the ground beside the gunslinger._

" _Looks like it's about to get worse!" Buck shouts as everyone shuffles for cover, pulling out their guns and trying to seek out their attackers in the dark. More bullets rain over their heads as they dive behind various rocks, leaving the wagon completely exposed. From within in, they can see the gambler trying to return fire, but not being able to offer much aide as round after round slams into the thin wood that provides his only cover._

" _JD! Get Ezra outta here!" Chris orders, firing over the kid's head and hearing a satisfying yell of pain as his bullet finds a mark._

_With the rest of the seven covering him, JD sprints for the head of the wagon, staying low and adding his own gunfire into the fray. He sees Ezra flip his body around, rolling onto his stomach and reaching back to cut the line of horses free from the back of the wagon. With a whistle from the gambler, they scatter, offering yet more cover for JD._

_"Thanks!" JD shouts as he throws himself up onto the bench. Quickly releasing the drive reigns from the brake, he urges the big draft horses into a fast start. They lurch forward, hauling the wagon away from the gunfight as fast as the panicked horses can run. With their heavy burden, though, it doesn't take long for the sound of approaching riders to reach JD's ears. He hears Ezra's guns going off, once again, behind him. Bunching the reigns into one hand and pulling out one of his guns with the other, he tries to turn around on the bench to help. As he twists, a rider suddenly comes in from the side, firing and hitting the young sheriff high in the shoulder of his gun arm. Thrown off balance by the impact and the pull from the reigns, JD pitches towards the sea of moving, deadly horsepower. Just as he is about to go down, something catches his injured arm, and he cries out in pain. Gritting his teeth, he looks up to see Ezra leaning over the top of the bench, gripping him with one hand while still firing at their pursuers with the others. After several agonizing seconds, the Southerner finally puts down his gun, reaching with both hands to try to pull JD back up. He shouts something, but the words come out completely garbled, bringing a surprised look to the gambler's face._

_"Ezra!" JD yells, drawing the gambler's attention back to the situation at hand. With a frustrated shake of his head, he climbs from the back of the wagon all the way up onto the bench and yanks his youngest teammate back up beside him. Grabbing the reigns, he slows the horses to a complete stop, worriedly looking at the sheriff's arm._

_"It's fine," JD breathes out as he inspects the wound, himself. "Just clipped me. I'll be fine - thanks to you, anyway. Gosh, Ezra, if you hadn't caught me-"_

_He looks up to see a tired, slightly lost look in the Southerner's eyes. "Ezra? You okay?" he asks._

_Making eye contact with him for the briefest of seconds, Ezra slowly nods, flashing him a slight, and utterly insincere, smile._


	7. Chapter 7

As Vin nears the town, he smiles when he sees the familiar red coat moving towards him. Coaxing Peso into a light trot, the tracker makes short time of the distance between them, bowing his head in response to the gambler's usual two-fingered tip-of-the-hat.

"A little early for your shift, ain't ya?" Vin points out, scrutinizing the Southerner's face. "Didn't sleep?"

Ezra responds with a little "it happens" shrug, then moves to pull his leather-bound journal and pencil from his coat pocket. As he touches the writing utensil to the paper, he pulls it back with an annoyed look.

"What's the matter?" the tracker asks, only to be answered with Ezra showing him the still-broken pencil tip. "Here, lemme see it."

Pulling out his knife, the ex-bounty hunter expertly creates a new, sharp point in the wood, smiling as he hands it back to the cardsharp. Ezra flashes him a large dimpled grin in thanks, then turns his book sideways and begins moving the pencil across the page. Vin waits patiently as the Southerner works, quietly watching the smooth, swift movements of the gambler's talented hands. Once finished, Ezra holds his journal up to the tracker, eliciting a laugh from the normally quiet man. On the page is a simple, but accurate sketch of a cow busting it's way through a fence. Beneath it, the gambler has written "COWS?" in large letters.

Still grinning, Vin responds, "Found all but one. Reckon' it'll turn up sooner or later, if the coyotes don't get to it."

Ezra nods, then scribbles something else on the next clean page in his journal. Vin frowns when the new page is revealed to him.

"Ezra, you know I can't-" he starts to protest, but Standish gives him a hard look, pointing his finger at the first few letters on the page. Sighing, Vin looks around him at the empty desert before turning back to the letters. "…An…Any…," he stumbles, his eyes moving across the words as Ezra's finger moves beneath them. "…Anyth, any…thin, any…thing – Anything." He smiles as the gambler nods his head, then continues. "Anything…eel…eelsee?" Ezra frowns, then covers up both _e's_ in the word, nodding at the tracker to try again. "L's? Anything l's? Anything else!" His smile bigger now, Vin moves through the next several words with more ease. "Anything else. I….need…to… ka-now?" The smile on his face vanishes, but bounces right back when Ezra covers up the _k_ and the _w_. "Anything else I need to no? Anything else I need to _know_?" Vin finally finishes, putting the sentence together in full.

The tracker continues to sit quietly grinning at his success for a few moments before the gambler raises an expectant eyebrow at him. Shaking off his euphoria over his small victory, Vin looks back over his shoulder towards the way he came, then back towards town.

"Spent the whole night trackin' cows," he shrugs. "Didn't really have a chance to do a decent patrol." With another pause, he asks. "Want me to come with ya?"

Ezra shakes his head, holding up a hand.

"I think I should, Ez. Josiah spent half his patrol at the Hendersons', too. I don't want ya runnin' into any trouble just 'cause we were too busy to check the rest'a the territory."

Lowering his head, the Southerner lets out a breath. Closing his eyes, he nods his head reluctantly, then suddenly turns Chaucer to head in a direction away from the one Vin had rode in from. The tracker is quick to spot the rigid way the gambler is now sitting in the saddle, and frowning, he rides up beside him.

"Has nothin' to do with you personally," Vin explains softly. "I'd do the same with any o' the others." He watches as the tension seems to flow out of the Southerner's shoulders before he continues. "Like I said, I just don't want ya gettin' into trouble-" Ezra flinches almost imperceptibly, but before Vin can question the motion, the confidence man plasters on a friendly smile and sets Chaucer into a full run across the open land.

Watching the sand billow up in a cloud of dust behind the chestnut, Vin takes a moment to reflect on his friend's peculiar actions.

* * *

_Creeping slowly around the rocks, the sharpshooter gets into a position where he can better see the flashes from the enemy guns. Motionless, and without firing his own weapon, he observes both sides of the fight. Counting softly to himself, he slides back down behind his cover, waving a hand at Chris. Firing one more shot into the darkness, Larabee makes his way over to the tracker._

" _How many?" he asks._

" _Six," Vin answers, checking his ammunition stock._

" _Think you can hit 'em?"_

_Vin shakes his head. "Not unless we can flush 'em out. They're covered better than we are."_

_After thinking for a second, the team's leader shouts out, "Everyone hold your fire!" A few more shots ring out from their side, and he shouts louder. "Dammit, quit shooting! You're wasting bullets!"_

_Josiah, Nathan, and Buck stop firing, all looking towards Chris with the same question on their face._

" _Got a plan, cowboy?" Vin voices the shared question._

" _Not yet," the gunslinger admits._

_The tracker peeks back around the rocks, a smile coming to his face. "Looks like somebody does."_

_Larabee follows Vin's line of sight out to the right of where their assailants are holed up, and hisses out a curse. An orange-red blur is rapidly barreling its way down a hill, heading straight towards the hidden attackers. None of them seem to be aware of the impending danger as six muzzle flashes continue to light up the night sky, chiseling pieces out of the rocks around Larabee's men._

" _Get ready to move," the man in black orders his team as the rest of them catch site of the burning object._

" _Hey, isn't that the-?" Buck starts to ask._

" _They burned the damn wagon," Nathan spits out angrily._

_Vin watches the buckboard's progress for a second before stating, "Does that look like it's turnin' to you?"_

_All eyes watch as the rolling fireball seems to slightly correct its course, angling its way onto a straighter path towards the shooters._

" _They're still on it," Josiah realizes, fear in his voice._

" _No, they're on the horses," Vin corrects just as the bullets ricocheting off the rocks around them come to a stop._

" _I think they see 'em," Buck needlessly states._

_The sounds of gunfire quickly start up again and they can see two new flashes of light moving away from the wagon as it careens into the rocks blocking its path._

" _They cut it loose!" Chris shouts. "Let's go!"_

_Instantly, the five men bolt out from their cover, adding their own haze of bullets into the chaos in front of them. JD and Ezra turn their horses around, moving back towards the few remaining gunmen. Within seconds, between the fire and the flanking seven, the ambushers are completely dispatched._

_Chris bends down and rolls over the first man he comes to. "He's from the tournament," he confirms to the others._

_Vin walks over to stand beside the gunslinger, staring down at the body. "Musta been a helluva tournament if it was worth killin' for."_

" _More, if it was worth dying for," Josiah adds, shaking his head. "Greed, loss, and anger make a powerful combination."_

" _Of all the damn, stupid, dangerous-" Nathan begins to go off as the two draft horses, still harnessed together to the detached wagon shaft, pick their way slowly through the carnage. He cuts himself off as he sees the riders, one grimacing as he clenches his shoulder, and the other breathing heavily as he focuses on guiding the horses towards the group. When they come to a stop, the healer rushes forward, the others quick on his heels._

" _JD, you hit?" Buck asks worriedly._

" _Yeah, just a scratch, though," the kid smiles as he slides off the horse. Nathan is by his side in an instant, pulling the sheriff's hand away from the wound._

_Chris stomps forward. "What the hell were you thinking? I told you to get Ezra outta here!"_

" _I tried!' JD explains. "He didn't give me much of a choice when he threw that damn match into the back of the wagon!"_

_Larabee turns his glare up to the gambler, but it drops off his face as he looks at Ezra's pinched features, leaning low over the horse's withers and focusing on keeping his breathing even._

" _Ezra?" Vin calls gently, making his way around to the side of Ezra's horse. The Southerner manages a struggled swallow, squeezing his eyes shut tight. Nathan looks up at him, and in alarm, tries to issue Vin a too-late warning. Unable to hold it back anymore, the meager contents of Ezra's stomach empty out all over the tracker._

" _Ah, dammit!" Vin shouts, looking down at his soiled leather jacket. A second later, the sudden full weight of the injured gambler knocks him to the ground. He grunts as his head impacts the hard desert earth, rendering him as unconscious as the burden pinning him down._

… _._

" _Hey, Nathan. I think he's comin' around," JD calls._

" _Not so loud, JD," Vin mumbles as he opens his eyes._

" _How ya feelin'?" Larabee asks quietly from beside him._

_Leaning up on one elbow, the ex-bounty hunter rubs his head. "Like I got kicked by horse."_

_Nathan steps into in his view, squatting down to peer into the tracker's eyes. He moves his finger around in front of Vin's face before sitting back on his heels. "Too dark to tell for sure, but I think you're all right. You weren't out longer than an hour and your reflexes look good. Probably just have a small goose egg and a headache."_

" _Good for me," Vin moans sarcastically. "How's Ez doin'?"_

_Nathan looks over to the sleeping form by the fire, guarded by Buck on one side and Josiah on the other. "Pushed himself way too hard. He's not gonna be able to ride tomorrow, and with the wagon gone, there's not much else we can do but stay here an extra day."_

" _That's all right," JD smiles, then touches his injured shoulder. "Now that Vin and I've caught up to the rest of you guys, I think we all could use a day to relax."_

_Vin looks at Chris. "You think more of those guys might come after 'im?"_

" _Nah," Chris shakes his head, "They woulda come with them if they were goin' to." He inclines his head towards the bodies out in the desert._

" _Good," Vin nods, laying himself back down on his bedroll. He shuts his eyes again, causing JD, Nathan, and Chris to move away and begin setting up their own beds for the night._

….

_Vin wakes up the next morning to the sound of Josiah's rumbling voice across the camp. He looks over to see the preacher talking encouragingly to the pale Southerner, who is holding a mug to his lips and taking abnormally long pauses between swallows._

" _That's it, nice and slow," Josiah soothes._

_In the full light of the morning sun, Vin takes a better look around at his companions. Aside from the wound on his arm, Nathan also has a long healing cut just above his left eyebrow. Josiah's battered hands look painful, and Buck's black eye is ghastly. JD's arm is now held up in a sling and one side of Chris's jaw is covered with an ugly purple bruise. Reaching up to feel the lump on the back of his own head, the tracker chuckles to himself._

" _What's so funny?" Buck asks with a grin._

" _Hell, I was just thinkin' next time Ezra's havin' a bad week, remind me not to get involved," Vin smiles._

_The gambler chokes at the statement, spitting water out all over the ground. Josiah pats him on the back a few times, asking "You okay, son?"_

_Making a quick recovery, Ezra nods his head, flashing Josiah a quick little smile before proceeding to stare down at the man's hands. He then glances around him, and Vin can tell that the Southerner is also assessing the team's injuries, a sad look coming to his face. When he makes eye contact with the tracker, the look vanishes to be replaced with an apologetic smile._

" _Ah, it's okay, Ez," the tracker assures him. "Not like you're actually to blame for all this."_

_A ghost of a shamed look swiftly passes across the gambler's face, so fast Vin squints his eyes in indecision on whether he actually saw it. His dimpled smile set firmly back in place, the cardsharp graciously reaches for the near-liquid bowl of flavorless oatmeal Nathan is handing him. He carefully takes to eating his breakfast without so much as a grimace in disgust._

_"What's goin' on with you, Ez?" Vin mumbles to himself, frowning at his friend's increasingly uncharacteristic behavior and not buying that confident smile for a second._


	8. Chapter 8

Riding at a steady, but deliberately held-back pace, Vin comes upon the tree-lined, shallow creek a few miles out of town that is currently acting as a playground for a one young Bostonian and his fun-loving older "brother." Currently, the two seem to have forgotten about their fishing excursion as they try to outdo each other in a wrestling match among the fallen leaves.

"Catch anything?" Tanner asks as he pulls Peso to a stop beside his companions.

JD shoves Buck off him, rolling up onto his elbows and reaching for his discarded hat. "I had a big one, but Buck let it get away," he accuses, brushing a leaf out of his hair as he stands up.

Buck merely sits comfortably with his legs drawn up, resting his arms casually on his knees. "Now that's not entirely true. It wouldn'ta gotten away if you hadn't been grabbin' for it."

"You shouldn'ta took it from me in the first place!" the young sheriff complains.

Vin interrupts them before they can continue with their argument. "Ya see Ez come by here?"

Buck smiles. "Yeah, came flyin' straight through the creek a little bit ago. Damn near rode right over the kid."

"Ah, he wasn't even close," JD smiles. "Didn't even get me wet, and he looked right at me when he went past so I know he knew I was there."

"He look okay?" Vin asks, a touch of concern in his voice.

Frowning, JD answers, "He smiled at me, I think, but it was hard to tell with him goin' so fast. Why?"

The tracker frowns, contemplating his answer. "I don't know. Just thinkin' back on the last couple months since he got hurt. Somethin' about the way he's been actin'….it ain't right."

"Well, he can't speak, hoss," Buck says gently. "Ya can't expect him to act normal."

JD pipes up, "I think he's been pretty normal. I mean, he has to write everything down and all, but other than that, he's been acting the same as he always does. In fact, I think he's even been a whole lot nicer than he was before." Vin glares at him, and the kid's face drops as he realizes what he just said. He backpedals at a rapid pace. "Oh, no, I don't mean to sound grateful that he got hurt or nothin'. I'm just sayin' he's nicer, is all. Like when he came through here - before, he woulda rode Chaucer right up next to me just to watch me get me soaked. Oh, and the other day…."

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_JD sits on the boardwalk outside Potter's Store, absently drawing little swirls in the sand with a stick. With his chin resting in one hand, he sighs as he stares dejectedly at his artwork. Suddenly, a new stick comes into view, and JD watches with fascination as his mindless doodle grows ears, a tail, whiskers, and a mischievous grin. Looking up, he sees a matching grin on the face of the well-dressed cardsharp. Using his boot, Ezra quickly clears away the little cat and writes "Is something amiss?"_

" _Aw, it's stupid," JD waves a hand at him._

_Undaunted, the gambler squats down in front of the young sheriff, giving him a look that implies he isn't going anywhere until the kid talks. JD's resolve crumbles, and he blurts out his troubles to the listening Southerner._

" _Mrs. Potter got this new clock; not a cuckoo, but one of the ones where a little door opens and a shepherd chases a sheep and then a little dog chases the shepherd around on this track where they go into another door and then come back out again." – Ezra nods in understanding of the description. – "Well, I remember there was one just like it in the house where my ma worked, and I always kinda liked it. I wanted to have one, but ma said we couldn't afford it and I kinda just forgot about it until now. I really want it, but turns out I still can't afford it, and Mrs. Potter says she can't hold it for me 'cause she needs the money as soon as she can sell it; and it's real pretty, Ezra. I bet someone else'll come buy it up way before I can save up the money for it."_

_Without batting an eye, the conman abruptly stands up and walks away from the sheriff, leaving the boy muttering to himself, "Told ya it was stupid." A few minutes later, however, Standish returns and sets the wooden clock on the boardwalk next to a very surprised JD._

" _Ezra, I can't take this!" he says, perplexed, holding the clock back up to the gambler._

_Shaking his head, the gambler pulls out his journal, scribbles a note on one of the pages before ripping it out of the leather binding, then hands it to JD. The note reads: "I had no intention of offering this timepiece up as a gift. I fully intend a 100% return payment at your earliest convenience."_

_JD smiles as he reads the note. "I'll pay ya back, Ez, I swear. Every penny." Then, with a pause, he adds. "What's the interest?"_

_Putting his journal back into his pocket, Ezra smiles and shakes his head, waving his hand. With a tip of his hat, the gambler turns and leaves the open-mouthed JD staring after him._

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"No interest?" Buck asks. "I don't believe that for a second."

"It's true!" JD confirms. "I even asked him about later, just to make sure I understood him right, and he looked insulted that I even brought it up."

Buck rubs his chin in a thoughtful manner before saying. "Ya know, maybe that's not so far-fetched, especially after what he did for me… This was about two weeks after we got back to town, and I was still feelin' mighty guilty about what happened to him. Thing is, I didn't realize exactly what the sneaky devil had done 'til I actually thought on it a bit…"

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" _I need someone to ride up to Devil's Canyon," Larabee announces with a casual, yet inarguable tone. He looks around at his men seated at the poker table, making certain all eyes are on him. They are. "Got a report about a snake nest – horses are scaring. Needs clearin' out before someone gets thrown over the edge."_

" _Clearin' snakes?" JD asks. "Well that's easy. I'll-"_

_Before he can finish, a distinct clearing of the throat is heard from the dealer's side of the table. Purposely laying down his cards before standing and adjusting his coat lapels, Ezra meets his leader's eyes with a hard, determined look. Chris reads into the look for a few seconds before turning his own gaze to Nathan._

" _He up for it?" the dark-clad gunslinger asks._

_Nathan looks from him to an unreadable Ezra, then back before replying. "He don't need a snake bite…"_

_Ezra whips out his book, hastily scribbling something down, "_ _No one_ _needs a snake bite," and shows it to Nathan._

" _Got a point," Vin adds with a grin._

_Nathan continues. "It's a pretty hard ride…"_

_Again, the gambler is quick to defend himself. "I will pace myself."_

" _No need to rush it," Josiah agrees with a wink to the Southerner._

_The argument goes on. "You just started eatin' proper again. Your body's still weak from not gettin' enough food. If you fall off-"_

_Ezra walks around the table and, still staring at Nathan, he reaches down and grips a handful of Wilmington's jacket, half-hauling the surprised ladies' man to his feet._

" _Well, guess I'm goin' with," Buck says, a shocked smile on his face._

_With a sigh, a relenting Nathan nods his head at Chris. Ezra beams, tilting his hat at both the healer and gunslinger before heading towards the door. On his way past, Buck stops as Larabee leans in close to him, issuing a soft warning into his ear. "If he doesn't come back in one piece-"_

" _Then I'll give you the gun to shoot me with, myself," Buck answers, steely truth in his eyes. He waits for Larabee's subtle nod before following after the gambler._

…

_Riding companionably side-by-side, Buck chattering away as the cardsharp politely listens, they come to a point in the path that is too narrow for both horses to fit through together. Ever the gentlemen, Ezra offers his friend the lead, but Buck quickly denies it._

" _I don't think so, hoss. If I'm in front, I can't be watchin' your back."_

_With a shrug, Standish urges Chaucer to move forward. They make it up to an area of the trail where a patch of shrubs sticks out from the rocks on their left, and a steep drop-off with a little crooked tree hanging over the edge serves as their right side._

" _Hold up," Buck says. "If there's a nest of snakes up this trail, then this is probably-"_

_Before he can continue, he sees Chaucer suddenly balk at something in the bushes. Standish tries to get him under control, but the horse continues to sidestep dangerously close to the edge. Unable to offer any soothing words to his equine friend, all Ezra can really do is try to hold on as Chaucer begins to buck frantically. Another second later, the gambler is easily thrown to the ground, hitting the dirt at a tumbling roll that takes him right over the edge of the canyon wall._

" _Ezra!" Buck shouts, jumping off Clyde and rushing to the place where the cardsharp had disappeared. He slides to the ground as he peers over the ledge, allowing himself a relieved smile when he sees his friend hanging tightly onto one of the old tree's roots jutting out from the rock._

" _Come on, pard, let's get ya outta there," he grins, reaching his arm down to the Southerner. Ezra grips it tightly, doing as much as he can to help out as Buck hauls him safely back onto solid ground. Once on his feet, continues to hold onto the mustached man's arm, offering his thanks with a sincere look. With a wide smile, Buck yanks the gambler into a tight hug for a few seconds. Annoyed, Ezra wriggles out of his arms, then proceeds to try to brush the layers of sand off his fine jacket._

" _Guess that means you're all right?" Buck asks tentatively._

_With an odd twinkle in his eye and his mouth crooked up ever so slightly on one side, Ezra merely nods and moves to mount back up onto Chaucer, who is standing with a bored expression in the very same spot where he had seemed terrified a few moments before._

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"First thing he did when we got back into town was tell Chris all about how I'd saved his life," Buck grins. "And ya know the funniest thing apart it was, we didn't find a single damn snake up that trail."

"He set the whole thing up from the start," Vin muses, to which Buck nods.

"Why would he do that?" JD asks.

"To get Chris of my back," Buck explains, "and I guess to show me he still trusts me to watch his."

JD looks at him, confused. "But you know it was a setup…"

"Yep, but the fact that he went that far to plan the damn ruse to begin with still made his point loud and clear," the ladies' man says seriously, then turns to the tracker. "How 'bout you? He go outta his way to do somethin' special for you?"

"Yup," Vin says cryptically, then adds, "but its personal."

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_Vin, leaning back in a shadow against the wall of the Clarion building, watches as the gambler rushes down the stairs of the clinic, a bright smile on his face at his newly-earned freedom. He turns to head towards the saloon, then pauses as if thinking for a second before turning back towards the livery. He disappears inside the building for only a few minutes, and when he reemerges, his easy smile is gone. Instead, he looks both ways down the street with a worried, and slightly lost expression on his face. As a young stableboy makes his way to his morning duties, Ezra latches onto the kid's arm, blurting out something utterly unintelligible. The boy looks at him, confused and now slightly frightened, causing the Southerner to release his hold. The kid quickly runs off, leaving Ezra standing alone and sporting a look of frustrated shame. Removing his hat and running his hand through his hair, a more distressed look taking over his features, the gambler again scans the street for anyone that may be able to help him with whatever his problem is. As Ezra's gaze makes it over to where the tracker is hiding, Tanner curses to himself as he realizes he's been caught trying to make himself scarce amongst the shadows. The Southerner hesitates for a moment in his forward momentum and gives Vin a quizzical look, to which the tracker steps out of his hiding place to wave him forward, trying to wipe his own look of guilt off his face. Approaching more slowly, with one critical eye on the ex-bounty hunter, Ezra pulls his journal from his pocket. Vin can't help the tension that suddenly courses through his body as the astute cardsharp touches his pencil to the paper. He waits (aware of the panicked look that must be on his face) until the gambler finishes his scribblings, then lets out his breath in a light laugh as the book is turned towards him. On the page, instead of a bunch of words, is a very detailed picture of a Dalmatian dog with no spots on the ears._

" _Ain't that the mutt that raises hell all around town?" Vin smiles._

_With an indignant look, Ezra scrawls "MUTT" in large letters on the paper, then makes a show of scratching a large "X" over the word._

_Vin holds up his hands in a defensive posture. "All right, not a mutt. Either way, what about her's got ya all riled up?"_

_Quite a bit faster, the Southerner sketches another, less-detailed picture into his journal. This time it depicts the dog curled up beneath the legs of a horse. Ezra points to the horse, points to himself, then writes "Chaucer" above the drawing. Understanding lights up the tracker's eyes, quickly to be replaced by a sympathetic look._

" _She took to you and Chaucer, didn't she?" he asks, waiting for the Southerner to nod before continuing. "Dammit, Ezra, I'm sorry. If I'd known…."_

_The distraught look returns to the gambler's face before he can keep it in check, causing Vin to quickly shake his head._

" _She's not dead or hurtin', as far as I know. She just got into Miller's food storage and he run her off while you were holed up in the clinic."_

_A new emotion flashes across Standish's face, a hopeful one, but it vanishes as soon as Tanner blinks. With a small smile and a stiff nod of the head, the perplexing man turns on his heels and begins to walk away. Vin reaches for his arm to stop him._

" _I can maybe track her down…" he offers._

_Ezra hesitates just a second too long before he politely shakes his head no. Vin sucks in a breath._

" _You turnin' down my help 'cause ya think I've been avoidin' ya?" he asks, then admits, "'Cause, dammit, that's exactly what I've been doin', like a damn coward." The hurt in the Southerner's eyes is obvious, pushing Tanner to quickly continue. "Ezra, I ain't been visitin' ya in the clinic like I should've 'cause I was afraid 'a bein' the only one who couldn't understand what you were sayin'."_

_Standish snorts out a little laugh, sucks in a breath, and allows a stream of slurred, nonsensical sounds to pour from his lips. He then taps himself on the chest and shrugs his shoulders._

" _You don't even understand what yer sayin'?" Vin laughs. "That's not what I meant and you know it." His tone becomes serious again as he continues, "You already knew I couldn't read, didn't ya?"_

_Ezra gives him an understanding nod._

_Vin hisses out a little breath. "Shoulda figured that – you see too damn much. Means I spent the last few days avoidin' you and that little book for nothin'… It wasn't right."_

_Ezra merely shrugs at the statement._

_A touch of anger in his voice now, Vin stares at the gambler hard. "No, Ez, this ain't somethin' to just shrug off. I wasn't bein' a very good friend…Hell, I wasn't bein' a friend at all. I was hidin' out, afraid the others'd find out I couldn't read, while you're layin' up in the clinic dealin' with the fact that you can't talk. It was wrong, and I'm sorry. The least I can do to make it up to ya is to find your dog. Let me help. Please."_

_The gambler seems to ponder the offer for a second, leaving Vin holding his breath in anticipation. Sighing, Ezra locks eyes with him, then holds up a finger firmly indicated the number one._

" _One more thing? Name it," Vin rushes out._

_He watches as Standish points at him, then to himself, then taps on his book. The tracker frowns._

" _You're gonna help teach me to read," he says as a statement, not a question. "That's you doin' me a favor, though. Kinda loses the point…"_

_Ezra shakes his head, then proceeds to write something down, thus beginning the first lesson. He forces Vin to slowly stumble his way through the words._

"' _I need to be able to talk to you,'" Vin says clearly after he puts it all together. Then, after tripping over the next set of words for a bit, he reads out, "'if I wish to keep my job.'" He quickly looks up at the Southerner. "You think you'd lose your job if you can't talk to me? It's not that import-" Ezra raises his eyebrows at the tracker, who cuts off his own words with a sigh. "Yeah, I guess you're right. It'd be pretty hard watchin' each others' backs if I don't know what's goin' on in your head."_

_Putting his notebook away, the cardsharp holds out his hand to the tracker. Smiling, Vin takes it, and with a firm shake says, "You got yourself a deal, Ez. Now let's go get your dog back."_

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_

"Still with us, pard?" Buck asks the daydreaming tracker.

"Yeah, just thinkin' is all…" Vin answers.

"I still don't get why him bein' so nice is botherin' you," JD frowns.

"Just doesn't feel right…" Tanner opines, then abruptly, "I'm gonna talk to the others, see what else I can find out."

"Well, I guess we'll come with ya," Buck offers. "We're obviously not gettin' any fishin' done."

Vin nods, then waits while JD and Buck ready their horses. Once set, the three head out on their new mission to try to determine what their silent friend might hiding.


	9. Chapter 9

"Well, after last night I thought this would be the last place you'd want to be," Josiah smiles at Vin, leaning on his fence post. Vin, JD, and Buck stop their horses a few feet from him as Nathan strolls up alongside the preacher.

"There trouble?" the healer asks.

JD shrugs. "Vin thinks there is, but I still don't see the problem."

"Man's got good instincts," the oldest of their team says with a thoughtful tilt of his head. "What's on your mind, brother?"

Buck grins. "He's worried about Ezra – says he's bein' too damn nice."

Nathan and Josiah look at Vin quizzically before Nathan says, "Nothin' wrong with a man changin' his ways, and if anyone needed to, it was him."

Vin furrows his brow. "Not arguin' with that, but the way he's gone about it...somethin's not right. Change is normally a gradual thing, doesn't happen over night."

"I tend to think our black sheep _has_ been improving over time," the preacher points out.

"Not arguin' with that, either," Vin replies, "but I still think somethin's buggin' him, and I'm not talkin' about his voice. Took off on me earlier, seemed pretty upset about somethin'."

"Yeah – Maude," JD states. "Buck already told you that, remember?" He looks at Nathan and Josiah. "Was it really that bad?"

Josiah nods. "Place looked worse than when the Petersons started that brawl over property lines."

"Told ya, kid," Buck says as JD whistles.

"Wow," the young sheriff says in awe. "He crashed the place up that bad all by himself?"

"Mostly," Nathan answers, shooting a small glare at Buck.

The tracker glances around at his friends. "That doesn't seem strange to any 'a you? Maude's always causin' him grief when she comes to town, never smashed up the saloon over it, though."

"It's been two months, brother," Josiah gently explains. "We all knew the dam would break eventually."

"Why's it been two months in the first place?" Vin asks, a sharpness in his normally calm voice.

Nathan shakes his head. "'Cause he's as damn stubborn as the rest 'a ya'll. Don't none of ya like to admit when ya'll are hurtin'."

"This ain't like his shoulder, Nate," Vin spits out. "He lost his damn voice! Way he uses his words is a big part 'a who he is. Way I figure, it'd be like me losin' my trackin' skills. Yeah, I'm one 'a the last to admit when somethin' ain't right, but even I wouldn'ta lasted two damn months without yellin' or hittin' somethin' or bitin' someone's head off. He's goin' outta his damn way to do favors for everyone! I'm tellin' ya, he's hidin' somethin'."

The other four men sit in thought over the normally quiet man's outburst. Josiah is the first to break the awkward silence. "You know, I think you might be right, brother. Didn't think much of it at the time, except how grateful I was of course, but remember when we had that storm blow through a few weeks ago?…"

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_Climbing the ladder to his roof, Josiah awkwardly fumbles with an armload of shingles as he clambers up onto the church. He drops the load heavily beside his tools, then looks with surprise at a figure casually lounging on the other end of the building, laying on his back with on leg crossed over the over, arms folded behind his head as he stares off into the vastness of the desert. His lips pulling up into a grin, the big man saunters over to his rooftop visitor._

" _What brings you to my humble abode this fine morning?" he asks._

_Ezra smiles up at him, then points off at the sunrise._

" _Sure is a beautiful sight, brother." Josiah sits down beside the gambler, watching in comfortable silence as orange and pink colors filter across the brightening sky. After a bit, he turns a curious eye on the Southerner. "Any particular reason you chose my roof to gaze on the Lord's painting?"_

_Sitting up, an almost naughty smile curling his lips, Standish pulls out his familiar journal. In it he writes: "_ _While on patrol last night, I discovered that the bridge crossing the Sable River is currently no longer passable. Unfortunately, despite my vast cornucopic wealth of knowledge, I am loathe to admit that I know very little regarding the art of bridge repair. Naturally, I came here seeking out whom I presumed to be the best individual for just such a task."_

" _Of course," Josiah nods his head knowingly, then as a second thought, "You been up here since your shift ended?" – The gambler nods. – "Son, that was over an hour ago. Why didn't you just wake me?"_

_Ezra shrugs, writing, "It was not an emergency, and as such, I deemed it unnecessary to disturb your slumber. Lord knows I detest an early arousal for anything less serious than a shoot-out in the street; and even then, I go with little enthusiasm."_

_The preacher snorts out a laugh. "There's something wrong with a man's head who goes into_ any _gun battle with enthusiasm."_

_That naughty smile returns to the cardsharp's face as he quickly scrawls two letters onto the page. This time the preacher lets his low, rumbling laugh echo out into the morning sky._

" _You couldn't be more right, brother," he says when he gets his laughter under control. "Guess next time Buck tells his young protégé he's not thinking straight, we'll just have to back him up."_

_His own smile growing a little more serious, Standish draws attention back to the issue at hand by tapping on the note regarding the bridge. Josiah twists his mouth in thought, looking first at the page, then looking back at his discarded pile of shingles. He then looks at the western sky and frowns._

" _I don't know, Ezra, was kinda hoping to get this roof fixed before the rains start coming in. I don't think that podium can handle any more water damage."_

_The smile dropping off his face, Ezra scribbles down another message and immediately hands it to the preacher._

" _This wagon's supposed to come through there tomorrow?" Josiah frowns, to which Ezra nods his head. The older man looks at the roof, then lets out a relenting sigh. "Guess I don't have a choice then."_

_Tapping on his shoulder to get Josiah's attention, Ezra points to the pile of shingles, then back at himself and mimes a hammering motion. The preacher looks at him in surprise._

" _You volunteering to fix my roof?" The gambler nods, causing Josiah to hesitate before continuing. "Don't take this as an insult, but do you even know_ how _to fix a roof?"_

_Standish fixes him with an angry glare before shoving his book back into his pocket. Standing, he walks over to grab a hammer, nails, and one of the shingles, then steps around the roof until he locates the damaged area. With a few smooth motions, he sets the shingle perfectly in place and proceeds to glare at Josiah._

_The big man laughs again, shaking his head. "Just because a man doesn't like to do something doesn't mean he can't," he says. "Guess I learned my lesson, son. And," he stands up to walk over and place a hand on the gambler's shoulder, "guess this also means I owe you an apology. I was thinking you were getting me to fix that bridge so you could avoid some 'menial labor.' That doesn't appear to be the case. I'm sorry, Ezra."_

_With a tilt of the head and the slight smile back in place, the Southerner gives Josiah a forgiving nod, then reaches down for another shingle. The preacher shakes his own head and heads down the ladder._

… _._

" _I don't know why I always let you talk me into these things," Nathan grumbles as he helps Josiah place the last board on the bridge. The rain is coming down on them in a light drizzle, and both men look miserable as they hurriedly clear up their supplies. Once their horses are packed, the storm begins to rage on them in earnest._

" _Let's get to that hole in the rock downstream!" Josiah suggests over the sound of the pummeling rain._

_Nathan nods and they quickly make their way to a small cave not far from where the bridge sits. Rushing inside, they remove their wet coats and Josiah searches the back of the cave for dry tinder. Within a few minutes, they sit comfortably beside a small fire, waiting out the storm. Josiah watches the rain, a slight worry flashing across his eyes._

" _Somethin' wrong?" Nathan asks._

" _Just wondering how far Ezra got on that roof before the rain started."_

" _Ezra?" Nathan repeats, baffled. "If you left Ezra fixin' that roof, he probably quit at the first drop."_

_Josiah sighs. "I can't afford to replace that podium. I hope he at least thought to place a bucket under the leak."_

… _.._

_Unable to maintain control over his concern, the preacher practically runs into his church upon their return to town. Nathan pauses outside for a few minutes, stepping back in hopes of seeing how much progress the gambler made on the roof. As he begins to walk around towards the ladder, he suddenly hears his name being called from inside. Rushing back around to the door, he stops when he sees Josiah hunkering down in front of the front pew. As he makes his way over to his friend, the healer can't help noticing that not only is there no bucket on the podium, but no water, as well. Turning to the bench, he curses as he sees the gambler sleeping on the hard wood, wrapped up in a blanket and shivering._

" _Ezra?" he calls, leaning over to pull back the blanket. The Southerner lets out an irritated groan and pulls the blanket up higher. "Come on, now, wake up. Lemme take a look at ya."_

" _You don't think he fell off, do you?" Josiah asks hesitantly as the healer finally peels the blanket off the protesting Standish._

" _Dammit, Ezra," Nathan sighs as he takes in the man's soaked clothing, ignoring Josiah's question. Finally coming into a more wakened state, the Southerner fixes Nathan with a scowl and, shivering, tries to wrench the blanket back from the healer._

" _Oh no you don't," the ex-slave scolds. "We gotta get you outta those wet clothes before you get yourself sick."_

_Josiah looks back at the dryness of his church, realization dawning in his expression. "Son, were you still up on that roof when the storm hit?"_

_Reaching down below the pew, Ezra pulls out his slightly dampened journal, and with a shaking hand writes simply: "I wasn't finished."_

_Nathan and Josiah share an exasperated look before the healer stands up, shaking his head. "I'm gonna go get him some dry clothes and somethin' warm to put in his system. Josiah, why don't you get him to the bathhouse, let him soak in a hot tub for a bit."_

" _Be glad to," the preacher says with a sad smile. Snagging the blanket from Nathan's hands, he wraps it back around the shivering man before standing him up. "Come on, brother, let's get you warmed up."_

_The gambler goes with him readily._

7777777

"Musta been where he caught that cold from," JD speculates. "At least it wasn't a bad one this time."

"Coulda been a lot worse," Nathan scowls. "Probably woulda been if he hadn't been taking his tea like I told him to."

Buck scrunches up his face in disbelief. "Ezra? Drinkin' that nasty stuff voluntarily? I don't believe it."

"Yeah, well that 'nasty stuff' has helped you on more than occasion," the healer snaps in defense.

"He's been pretty good for ya, in general, hasn't he Nate?" Vin asks.

Nathan thinks for a second before nodding. "Yeah, I guess he has. In fact, now that I think on it, he's been the model patient. Been doin' everythin' I ask him to without complainin', even comin' to me for help when he needs it instead of tryin' to hide like he normally does…. In fact, he didn't even put up a fuss those few extra days I kept him in the clinic, even though I know he was feelin' better…"

7777777

" _How're feelin', Ezra?" the healer asks as he carries a tray of breakfast foods into the clinic._

_Casually playing a game of solitaire on the little table in the corner of the room, the gambler smiles up at Nathan before swiping his cards into his hands, clearing space for the tray._

" _You wanna try again this mornin'?" the ex-slave asks, almost apologetically, as he joins the Southerner at the table._

_With only the smallest hesitation, Ezra takes in a small breath before making an attempt to say something tangible. It comes out as anything but; merely a string of halting sounds. Sighing in a bored manner, the Southerner tears off a small piece of biscuit and soaks it in the cup of watered-down gravy, moistening it down enough to swallow it with relative ease. The healer watches his patient's progress with his meal for a few minutes before quietly digging into his own. He only gets about half way through his breakfast before he throws his fork down in disgust. The gambler merely arches an eyebrow at him._

" _I wish I knew a way to help you, dammit. Hell, I wish I knew what the hell was wrong with you. I feel so damn useless. If I only had more trainin'…"_

_Ezra places his hand on the healer's arm and firmly shakes his head. Reaching across the table, he grips the little black book and holds it up for Nathan to see. He shakes it at the ex-slave for emphasis._

" _Anyone coulda gotten ya a book, Ezra," Nathan sighs._

_Flipping it open, the Southerner writes on one of the new pages: "Yes, but 'anyone' didn't. You did. And right now it is the most valuable object in my possession."_

" _Still wish you didn't have to use it," the healer answers._

_Ezra nods his agreement, then shrugs his shoulders in an "oh well" fashion before going back to his meal. This time, it's Nathan's turn to catch his friend's attention with a hand to his arm._

" _How can you do that?" the healer asks quietly. The Southerner again arches a brow at the question, so he continues. "How is it you can just sit here actin' like you don't care? Christ, Ezra, I'm goin' outta my mind tryin' to figure out why you can't say a single word, and here you are just enjoyin' your breakfast like it's any other day."_

_Calmly scribbling in his book, Ezra tears off the page and hands it to the healer. On it is written: "You have told us on any number of occasions that head wounds can be unpredictable. Either I will recover, or I won't. There is no point in dwelling over something I can do nothing about."_

" _But that's just it, Ezra," Nathan argues, "maybe if I understood a bit more about your injury, there'd be somethin' I could do to help. I seen a lotta head wounds on the battlefield - most folk ended up with memory loss, or blindness, and yeah, some that couldn't talk, but that was 'cause they couldn't do much of anythin' anymore. Except for the fact that you can't form words and seem to have some trouble swallowing, you seem perfectly healthy. I don't even know if the problem's in your throat or your head."_

_With another softly cursed "damn", the healer pushes away from the table and heads out the door._

… _.._

" _Hey, Nate! Nate, hold up, pard!" Buck calls out to him, trotting to catch up to the healer. Nathan notices a wrapped parcel tucked beneath one of Buck's arms._

" _Somethin' for one of your lady friends?" Nathan asks._

" _What? Oh, no, this is for you," the ladies' man answers, holding the parcel out the confused healer._

" _What is it, and where'd it come from?" Nathan asks._

" _Why don't ya open it and see for yourself? And it's from Ezra."_

_The healer pauses as he tears at the paper. "I knew it! He's been sneakin' out while I'm not around, hasn't he?"_

" _No, Nate, he ain't been sneakin' out. I went up to see him yesterday mornin' after you left in a huff, I guess, and he sent me out to get that for ya. Said he thought it'd make ya feel better or somethin'."_

_Still a little skeptical, Nathan continues to tear at the brown paper until what is revealed within causes his jaw to drop slightly. In his hands he holds a thick book with a dark blue hard cover and the words "Medical Case Studies: Speech Impediments" embossed in gold print on the front._

" _Where…?" the healer stumbles out._

_Buck answers eagerly. "The first thing he did when he came home was to have me wire this doctor friend 'a his back in Louisiana. Man was due to hitch a train out this direction that same day, so Ez asked him to bring anything he could find about people not bein' able to talk. He was just gonna sort through all those notes himself, but I guess he figured you needed 'em more. The doc dropped 'em off in Ridge City yesterday afternoon. Ez asked me to pick 'em up but to get 'em bound up nice in that cover, then give it to you."_

" _Thanks, Buck," Nathan says softly as he gently turns the pages of medical notes._

" _Don't thank me, I was just the runnin' boy. Thank Ezra," the ladies' man says with a smile._

…

" _Ezra…Ezra," the healer calls gently._

_Yawning, the Southerner takes a moment to stretch his limbs before sleepily smiling up at the ex-slave. His smile grows bigger as he notices the blue book held in Nathan's hands._

_Following the gambler's gaze, Nathan quickly opens the book to the page he has saved. "This is it, right here, I think," he says, "Man went down off his horse, got kicked in the back of the head. His symptoms match yours…" The healer continues to summarize what he's reading as he goes. He shakes his head, puffing out an annoyed breath. "Don't know why I didn't think of that." Ezra raises his eyebrows at Nathan, waiting for the coming explanation. "Doctors seem to think it's a kind of paralysis. Damn, I was right when I was worried about your neck…didn't know the nerve damage could effect anythin' higher than your arms, though…" - The gambler shoots Nathan a questioning look. – "It's just like how a back injury can cause a man to lose the use of his legs. Your brain is sendin' the signals, but the message ain't gettin' through. The nerve damage is messin' up your ability to control the muscles in your mouth and throat." After Ezra nods his head in understanding, the healer proceeds to scan down the words on the page. After a second, his face drops, and he looks up at the Southerner hesitantly. Ezra stares blankly back at him. "Ezra…this man….he never recovered." Looking away from the gambler's face, Nathan whispers out a quiet, "I'm sorry."_

_Sighing, Ezra pulls the book away from the healer's hands so he can see the case for himself. Nathan watches his friend's face, searching for the emotions that the gambler simply doesn't show, until surprisingly he looks away from the pages with a smile._

" _You see something I didn't?" he eagerly asks._

_Still smiling, the unpredictable man shakes his head, but then makes a show of riffling his fingers through the rest of the pages in the thick volume._

_With his own grin, Nathan nods. "You're right, Ez, there could be cases with better outcomes…. And I wouldn't know anything about any of 'em if you hadn't got me this book. I'll make sure you get it back when I'm done with it."_

_Ezra reaches for his own little book, scribbling out a note for Nathan. "Nonsense," it reads, "You have far better use for it than I. Consider it a payment for my freedom…?"_

_Grinning wider, Nathan nods. "Guess there's really no reason to keep ya. Can't do a damn thing about nerve damage, anyway. Finish out the night here, then you can leave first thing in the morning."_

_With a satisfied smile, Ezra shuts his eyes and drifts back off to sleep._

7777777

"Maybe that's what got him more on edge last night," the healer suddenly says, snapping himself out his own thoughts.

"What's that, brother?" the preacher asks.

"I found a few more similar cases in that book. In one case, the patient was showing signs of improvement around two months after his injury."

"So you think he's upset 'cause it's been two months and he's still the same?" JD asks.

"Could be it," Vin frowns, not sounding very convinced. "I wanna check with Chris, see if he has anything to say on it."

"Might be a good plan," Josiah agrees. "We'll go with you, as soon as we get this fence finished."

"Might go a whole lot faster with some help," Buck suggests.

With a nod, Vin, JD, and Buck leave their horses to offer help, making quick work of the fence repairs.

…

As the men enter the saloon, they spot their black-clad leader seated at their usual table. On their way in, Inez halts their progress with a polite smile.

"Hey there, beautiful," Buck grins with a slight dip in the knees, "we missed ya while you were gone."

"How sweet. And I missed you, and you, and you, and you, and you," she returns, looking at every man _except_ Buck.

"Ouch," the ladies' man groans with mock hurt.

"Do you want to know who else I missed?" she asks, waiting to see Buck's eyes light up in anticipation before she continues. "Mr. Standish. If you see him before I do, please tell him I wish to speak with him."

"Will do, ma'am," Vin agrees with a nod of his head.

She smiles again at them before making her rounds through the other patrons at the saloon. The boys continue on their way to Chris's table.

"What happened now?" Larabee asks, seeing the concerned looks on their faces.

He listens intently as his men begin to lay out their concerns regarding their most enigmatic lawman. Once they finish, he sits silently staring at his beer, a pensive look marring his features.

"So…?" Buck finally asks, breaking the silence. "Whatd'ya think?"

"I think he'd been doin' a damn fine job," Larabee answers, but his tone doesn't come out sounding like a praise….

7777777

" _Got trouble out at Red Rock," Chris announces as he strides into the saloon. Glancing around at all his men, he sighs at the usual absence of his seventh. "Someone go wake up Ezra."_

" _We can't," JD says innocently._

" _Why not?" Larabee replies, failing at keeping the seething tone from his voice._

" _He's already awake," Vin announces matter-of-factly. "Joined me for breakfast, then headed out with Chaucer and Queenie."_

" _Who the hell's Queenie?" Chris asks._

_This time it's Buck who answers, lacing his voice with a comically snooty tone, "Royal Flush's Queen of Diamonds."_

_Chris still looks confused._

" _It's his dog," Nathan clears up. "He sorta adopted that mutt who's been stirrin' things up all over town."_

" _Aw, she's been doin' real good since he's been workin' with her," JD points out._

" _And don't let him hear ya call her a mutt," Vin adds._

_Larabee shakes his head. "Did he say where he went?"_

" _Yup, told me to get 'im if we needed 'im," Vin answers, then smiles at the surprise in the gunslinger's face._

" _Well, do it," Chris finally answers._

… _._

_Buck fires his gun around the side of a tree as he speaks, "Why the hell" –_ bang! – _"do these guys always" –_ bang! bang! – _"come an' try to rob us?"_

" _I know!" JD shouts, taking aim over a rock. "Ya'd think they'd heard of us by now!"_

" _I think that's the problem," Josiah comments from his own position behind a tree on the other side of Buck's. "We're a challenge, and some people are drawn to challenges."_

_As the three of them draw fire to their location, the other four members of the team quietly flank around the group of bandits. Chris looks up and sucks in a breath as he notices the gambler on the other side of the bandit's camp, a little too close for the leader's comfort. Not wanting to give away his friend's (or his own) position, all he can do is watch to see what Standish has in mind. The Southerner, on his end, creeps forward just a little more, keeping himself low amidst the sparse bushes and his gun held out in front of him. Never taking his eyes off his targets, he reaches into his jacket and pulls out an item that has Larabee cursing angrily – a stick of dynamite. Just as he is about to light it, he seems to change his mind, pulling back a little bit into cover. Confused, the dark-clad gunslinger watches as Ezra ducks his head down, then brings it up holding his book above his head where Chris can see the one giant word written on the page. Unable to hide his smile, Chris gives him a nod and quickly signals his other men to wait. Sneaking forward ever so slightly again, Ezra lights the fuse and tosses it into the middle of the bandit camp before dissolving himself back into better cover._

" _Dynamite!" one of the bandits yells, dropping his gun as he runs for cover. The rest of the shooters follow suit, scattering in all directions towards the seven flanking lawmen. Within minutes, all are held at gunpoint with their hands up by one of the seven. The explosion never comes._

" _What are you smilin' at?" Buck snaps at Chris as he shoves his bound captives towards the clearing. "Just about had a heart attack when that fella screamed."_

" _Yeah," JD agrees, staring in disgust at the spent fuse on the red stick, "if that thing'd gone off, we were all too close to get away without bein' hurt."_

_Chuckling louder, Larabee shares a look with his gold-toothed associate. "It's not dynamite," he finally informs the others._

" _Looks like it to me," Josiah grumbles._

_Vin stoops down at picks it up, examining it. "I'll be damned," he smirks. "It's just a candle with a dynamite fuse in place of the wick. Smells real nice, too."_

"' _Bout time you learned some sense, stopped playin' with real explosives," Nathan grins, shaking his head._

" _Good thinkin', Ezra," the gunslinger says appraisingly._

_Slightly self-conscious, the gambler scribbles out another note:_ _"I apologize for not informing you of my plan in advance, but I had not thought on it until we were already moving into our designated positions. I altered the candle last night with the intention of revealing to you today its potential in just such a situation. I had forgotten it was still in my pocket, and upon its discovery, I felt now was as good a time as any to test my theory. It worked splendidly."_

" _Sure got the job done," Buck agrees, "but why not just use a dead stick instead of makin' that?"_

_Ezra shakes his head, writing out his answer: "Even a 'dead stick,' as you put it, still carries a risk. As Mr. Jackson pointed out, I simply wizened to the fact that less grief could be caused if I ceased my childish obsession with the explosive."_

_Buck frowns, about to comment on the odd statement, when their leader interrupts._

" _Come on, let's get these men to the jail," Chris orders, bringing an end the morning's adventure, and the conversation._

7777777

"That sure was one helluva a stunt," Buck laughs, "even though I'm still surprised he quit playin' with dynamite. He loves that stuff."

Chris huffs. "I'm surprised he clued me in on his plan in the first place. Would've expected him to just act first and wait for me to yell at 'im later. In fact, he doesn't do anything without asking my permission anymore."

"He's been gettin' up on time every day, too," JD adds.

"He doesn't seem to object to any of the patrols you put him on," Josiah says.

"Always lets us know where he's goin' before he takes off," Nathan throws in.

"...'Less grief'…" Vin suddenly repeats the gambler's words thoughtfully.

"Love to hear what you're thinkin', cowboy," Chris prods.

"He didn't say he quit with the explosives so he wouldn't hurt himself, he said he quit 'cause he didn't want to cause anymore grief. Think about it - he's been real good with his duties so you wouldn't have to stay on 'im or worry about 'im; he hasn't complained about Nathan's care, has been goin' to 'im when he needs to just 'cause it makes Nate feel better than us hidin' our hurts, and gave 'im that book so Nate'd quit frettin' about not knowin' what was wrong; he got sick fixin' Josiah's roof prob'ly 'cause he felt guilty about sendin' 'im away to go fix that bridge; he almost wouldn't let me help him find Queenie so he wouldn't take up my time, and even then, he insisted on doin' me a favor in return; he helped out Buck so he'd quit feelin' guilty over what happened and stop you two from fightin', and Buck, I bet he had ya help out so much with those medical journals just so'd ya have somethin' you could do for 'im; and he didn't charge interest on that clock for JD, not to mention he didn't leave an exact day to pay 'im back by."

"He doesn't want to put us out," Nathan says, catching on to Vin's meaning.

"Would explain why he got upset and took off," Josiah speculates. "He's probably mad at himself for us having to help him clean up the bar."

"And hidin' it with a laugh and that damn smile so we wouldn't worry about 'im," Vin finishes.

JD sighs. "I still don't get it, though. I mean, I understand why he wouldn't want us to worry – we all do that when we're injured. But, it seems like he's goin' through an awful lot more trouble than usual just to _not_ cause any trouble. Why would he do that?"

"Ah hell," Larabee curses, rubbing at his forehead. When all eyes turn to him, he states with an annoyed tone, "I know exactly why."

The others lean in intently as he explains the actions of their silent seventh.


	10. Chapter 10

Ezra P. Standish, frequenter of gambling halls, born and bred city boy, proper southern gentlemen, is flying.

Hunched low over Chaucer's neck, his body melding with his horse's powerful muscles, he barely breathes as the magnificent animal's hooves barely touch the desert ground below them. Gone is the carefree, jovial attitude displayed during the night's one-man act. Vanished is the teasing laughter over the morning's practical joke. Nonexistent is the easy smile flashed to his comrades before and during his current flight. In their place is a look of anger, shame, fear, and sadness as his mind plays back through a myriad of painful memories…

* * *

_Ezra turns his head just slightly at the sound of voices around him. Furling his eyebrows, he tries to focus on the conversation. He hears Buck and Josiah talking, saying something about Chris being in jail…something about trying to get the gambler's money from the poker organization. Letting the memories of what happened to him and the mumbled words sink in, a pained groan escapes his lips._

" _Josiah, wait!" Nathan suddenly calls. "I think he's comin' around."_

_..._

" _Those idiots!" Nathan huffs as he storms back into the room. After Ezra gives him a questioning look, he continues. "They both got themselves thrown in jail with Chris. Buck went after that guy who pushed you, and Josiah went after those men who don't wanna pay you."_

_Before Ezra can respond, the door is suddenly shoved open as a few men pile in._

" _There he is, that bastard," one of the intruders yells as they head towards the bed._

_Nathan quickly moves to defend his injured friend, swinging at the first of the hostile men. Not one to be caught helpless, Ezra throws himself out of the bed onto another of his attackers. The five men thrash around the room for a bit before tumbling out into the hallway. One of the attackers pulls out a gun, aiming it at the healer. Standish sees the move and jumps on the man, their combined weight smashing them through a door into the next room. The gun goes off in the fall, and the gambler quickly grabs at it, using it to knock the man beneath him unconscious. He hardly has a chance to stand before another of the attackers launches on top of him. Nathan rushes in, pulling the man off the Southerner and knocks him out._

" _Ezra!" the healer yells, dropping down to help his dazed friend. Shaking away the dizziness, Ezra's gaze latches onto Nathan's bleeding arm, dismay flashing through his eyes._

" _Just a scratch," Nathan assures him before helping the man to his feet, "let's get you back to your bed."_

_The hotel manager and the sheriff step into the room._

...

_Facing the stone wall, Ezra squeezes his eyes shut tightly and does his best to focus on his breathing. He grimaces as he listens to his friends arguing heatedly behind him about who is at fault. Chris is blaming Buck for the initial injury, Nathan is yelling at both Chris and Buck for some sort of scuffle in the hospital, Buck is arguing about Josiah leaving Ezra and Nathan unguarded, Josiah returns fire back at Buck for being stupid enough to attack a man behind bars, and all of them are blaming each other about the gambler's current, slightly more bruised condition._

_Mind reeling, the injured man looses focus on his breathing. Before he can stop it, he adds more fire to the rising inferno by vomiting painfully all over the floor. As expected, the argument leaves the level of yelling and downslides into one of fist-throwing._

_..._

_They're in the stable. With a sigh, Ezra throws himself into a pile of soft hay, the healer quick to check on the condition of his charge._

" _He all right?" Chris asks, concern evident in his voice._

" _He would be if he had stayed in the hospital like he was supposed to," Nathan snaps._

_This instantly starts up the rolling argument again. No longer able to stand it, Ezra pushes himself up and plants himself between the four angry men. He opens his mouth to yell at them, but Nathan quickly orders him against using his voice, concerned that his throat can't handle it yet. Now even more irritated, he instead throws a surprising amount of crude hand gestures at them, gaining their shocked attention. He then goes through a process of miming out his own involvement in sending Buck away in the first place, assuring Buck that he doesn't blame him, thanking Chris and Josiah for their efforts in retrieving his pay, and making sure Nathan knows that aside from being tired and a bit nauseous, he is otherwise fine. With one final show of his frustration at the recent events, he finds a dusty spot on the floor and writes "Shameful," glaring at each one of their apologetic faces. Storming back to his hay pile, he flops back into it and instantly falls to sleep._

_..._

" _Doin' all right, Ez?" Buck asks him for possibly the one-hundredth time._

_With a nod, Ezra smiles at his worried friend before reaching a hand down and casually scratching Chaucer's neck. They walk slowly, keeping pace with their injured member. Ezra glances up at Nathan who is riding parallel with him on the other side of the wagon. Every once in a while, the healer will assess the gambler's condition openly, grumbling something under his breath when he turns away. Looking at the healer and then at the late-afternoon sun with a sigh, Ezra reaches a hand out to Buck._

" _You need to stop?" Buck asks._

_Ezra nods, sending his overeager friend into a frenzy of shouting orders to "hold up!" Worried looks instantly nail themselves to the self-conscious cardsharp. He flashes them a reassuring smile, then mimics an exaggerated yawn._

" _Knew you'd get wore out ridin' that horse," Nathan grumbles. "Come on, let's get you into the wagon."_

" _It's gettin' late, anyway," Chris says. "Might as well stop here for the night."_

_Josiah turns on the wagon bench to look back the way they came. "Didn't get too far from town."_

" _That's good," the healer quickly points out. "Means Ezra here's been pacin' himself like I told him to. At least you got enough sense for that."_

_The gambler smiles at him as he waits for help off of his horse._

...

_Again, he awakens to the sounds of voices talking. He listens intently as he hears his friends relaying the unfortunate events of Jefferson City. His frown deepens into an irritated scowl as the story continues, not even lightened by the knowledge that JD and Vin have now joined their party. Putting a hand over his eyes and rubbing his fingers across his temples, he sucks in a breath when he hears Nathan's last comment:_

" _Man seems to get himself into trouble even when he doesn't go lookin' for it. Course, most of the time the rest of us don't get so banged up savin' him from it."_

_His thoughts are interrupted by the sudden onslaught of gunfire erupting around him._

_..._

_Trying to stay down, to keep his already weakened body away from further injury, Ezra hears Chris order JD to get him out of the line of fire. With an irritated grunt, he peeks above the wagon in time to see the kid trying his hardest to make his way to the wagon. His face displaying frustrated worry, he looks around for anything he can do to help. His eyes settle on the horses tethered to the back of the wagon, and he quickly makes the maneuver to cut them free. His relief is apparent as the young sheriff reaches him under the cover of the horses, and they quickly speed off to leave the gunfight behind._

_Until the gunfight chases after them._

_Ezra tries his best to draw the attention of the following shooters. When one sneaks up beside the wagon to take the shot at JD, the Southerner growls out in anguish as he sees the kid topple towards the front of the wagon. In one fluid motion, he shoots down the man responsible with one hand while catching hold of JD's arm with the other. Keeping his grip firm and gritting his teeth against his own pain, he makes quick work of taking out the rest of their pursuers before making the move to pull his young friend back up to safety. On his first try, his strength waivers and he sees the terrified look JD gives him upon slipping back into his precarious position. In an attempt to reassure the young man, Ezra shouts out to him, only to discover that the words coming from his mouth sound like nothing but utter nonsense. He stands, stunned, for a few seconds before JD's voice breaks through his confusion. Further frustrated with himself, he shakes off his thoughts and forces his muscles to comply with the order to get his friend to safety. He succeeds._

_..._

_JD is insisting that they keep moving. Staring back in the direction of his friends' ensuing gun battle, Ezra shakes his head._

" _Chris told me to get you outta here," the young sheriff whines._

_Showing JD his most apologetic look, he deftly lights a match and tosses it into the back of the wagon._

" _What'dya do that for?" JD cries out in shock._

_Ezra opens his mouth to speak, then changes his mind, instead opting to simply grab the young sheriff by the uninjured arm and maneuvering him onto one of the draft horses. He jumps onto the other and pulls up the reigns, circling the wagon around against the protests of his young friend._

_As they race towards the men shooting at the other members of the seven lawmen, Ezra smiles at the quiet look of determination that has now settled on JD's face. He gets the kid's attention, motioning back towards the pin holding the horses' shaft to the wagon._

" _Just tell me when," JD nods._

_As the wall of rock serving as a shield for the assailants gets closer, Ezra gives JD the signal to release the ball of fire rolling along behind them. As the pin is pulled, he realizes the gunmen are now firing at them, so he draws his own weapon and fires back. He turns the horses away from the fight immediately, keeping one eye on JD as he does so, taking a moment to pause in shooting so he can push the kid further down on his horse. He smiles as he hears the report of five other guns, his friends' guns, putting a quick stop to the battle._

_With a tired sigh, he turns the horses back around to join the other lawmen._

_Anger is the first thing that greets him when he reaches them, but not anger at him. He winces as Larabee turns his attention to JD, but is instantly ready to take the gunslinger's wrath when the kid points the blame back in his direction. Unfortunately, his resolve slips as he wavers atop his horse. Closing his eyes against the nausea, he fails to notice the sharpshooter sliding up beside him until it's too late to keep down the rising bile. With a look of anguish, he also can't seem to right his impending fall onto his now-distracted friend._

_..._

_He forces himself awake, sitting up to look around dazedly at his still-sleeping companions. Seeing Vin's soiled jacket not to far from him spread out on a rock, the gambler reaches for it, swaying when he can't quit stretch his arm out far enough to grasp it._

" _It's fine," Larabee suddenly says, squatting down beside him. "I cleaned it, set it there to dry."_

_Casting his eyes down, Ezra nods, then takes a worried glance around the campsite until his eyes rest on the sleeping tracker. Chris follows his gaze._

" _Nathan says it doesn't look like he hit his head too hard. Should wake up soon," the gunslinger tells him, resting a reassuring arm on his shoulder._

_As the others begin shifting around, obvious that they're waking, Chris stands to retake his position beside the unconscious ex-bounty hunter. Before he gets far, Ezra clears his throat, causing the gunslinger to turn back around. Without looking up, the unusually hesitant con artist attempts to speak, hearing the muddied sounds that emit from his mouth. As Chris squats back down next to him, Ezra finally looks up to meet the gunslinger's worried gaze._

" _Ezra, can you talk?" Larabee asks._

_He slowly shakes his head. Chris lets out a breath, then pats the gambler on the leg as he heads over to the still-waking healer. They talk in hushed tones for a few minutes before both return to his side. Nathan sits down in front of him._

" _You're still healin', Ezra. This might just be a temporary side-effect, so don't get too worked up over it yet. Let's just focus on gettin' you better, then we'll see if this rights itself."_

_Forcing himself to flash a small smile at his concerned friends, he nods, then motions to Nathan that he'd like something to eat._

" _All we have that you can get down is porridge," Nathan informs him somewhat apologetically._

_Ezra's face just starts to scrunch up in disgust, but he stops it, turning the look into another smile and a nod. Chris sees Vin move a little on the other side of camp and, with his own nod to the quiet gambler, heads over to his friend. The rest of the camp comes to life, hovering over both their fallen brothers. Ezra listens as they talk amongst themselves, then smiles when he hears Vin's complaints join the mix of voices. Taking the offered water from Josiah, he focuses on his limited ability to swallow until he hears Vin's words:_

" _Hell, I was just thinkin' next time Ezra's havin' a bad week, remind me not to get involved."_

_He gasps, inhaling some of the water and immediately choking it back out. At the preacher's concern, he quickly recovers himself, then gets a better look at the large man's battered hands in the light of the full sun. Alarmed, he takes a better look at the rest of his friends' injuries, injuries they all received because of him. Vin's voice again interrupts his thoughts._

" _Ah, it's okay, Ez," the tracker assures him. "Not like you're actually to blame for all this."_

_His mask slips for just an instant before he can cover it. Doing his best to regain his confident portrayal, he flashes his biggest smile at the tracker before Nathan steps back into view to hand him his breakfast. Determined not to disappoint, he accepts the bland porridge graciously._

_..._

_He tries his best at everything with every chance he gets upon his return to town. He does what he can to alleviate Nathan's guilt over his lack of improvement concerning his speech. Though still tired and knowing he could risk further injury to himself, he sets up his plans to repair the friendship between Buck and Chris, and to ease the ladies' man's own guilty conscience. He tries his damndest not to invoke the famous Larabee wrath, even giving up some of his favorite hobbies and risky actions to appease the short-tempered gunslinger. He becomes more generous with his money, with both his friends and at the poker table. If he needs a favor from any of his comrades, he compensates for their actions with double his own efforts in return. He doesn't complain, he stays out of harm's way, he reports his illnesses and injuries, he engages in menial labor, he gets up at a decent hour, he puts on a smile, he laughs, he performs, he pretends. He exhausts himself with his efforts. His guilt begins to alleviate.  
_

_And then Maude comes to town._

" _I'm only here for the day," she tells him as she steps off the coach. "I have a pressing engagement tomorrow afternoon. You should be grateful that I took the time to visit you in this little hovel on my way through."_

_He can't hide the paling of his face, the fear in his eyes._

" _What's wrong, darling, you look like you've just seen a ghost?" she asks._

_His friends see his distress and come forward to help out. They pull her aside, explain to her his condition._

" _Really?" she asks, raising an eyebrow at her son._

_He nods, turning his face away from her judging glare._

" _Well, that's hardly a reason to be upset. It's nothing!" she says jovially, smiling at him._

_He looks at her sharply, confused at her words. Seeing her smile, he lets out a breath and grins back at her. His friends share skeptical looks, but relax as Maude places a gentle hand to her son's cheek._

" _There are far worse things to lose than one's voice, my dear," she quietly tells him._

_Ecstatic, he spends the rest of the day with his mother, sharing stories with her in written words as she reciprocates with her extensive vocabulary. Shortly before the last stage leaves that will take her away from him yet again, she sits down on his bed and waits for him to shut the door before joining her._

" _Thank god," she says, rolling her eyes. "I was getting tired of putting on that atrocious act for the entire town."_

_He looks at her, confused by her words, as she continues her rambling speech._

" _I haven't quite determined what you might gain from this little charade, but with this much effort, the reward must be alarming. Heavens, look at you! Running around with a silly little notebook, acting the part of the perfect, humbly mute lawman. I admit, you had me a bit worried with this whole ruse of actually becoming an honest citizen, but now…now, I must say that I'm rather proud of you."_

_His eyes widen in saddened disbelief as he realizes what she is praising him for. She talks on, oblivious to his expression._

" _You managed to con your own mother, imagine that. This whole time I've been fretting that you'd changed your ways, you've merely been biding time to gain their trust to set them up for…well, for whatever it is that you're planning with this display of speech impediment. I'm glad you've finally come around and let me play a part in it. I hope this means I will be recompensed a fair amount for my role?"_

_Angrily, he stands and shouts a string of garbled words at her. She freezes, staring up at him for a second before her lips stretch into a thin smile. She stands, patting his arm, then lets out a hearty laugh. He jerks back as if he's been slapped._

" _Oh, that's priceless," she chuckles out. "Very convincing, dear. Keep that up and they'll be eating out of your hands in no time." She turns towards the door, still grinning. "Well, as entertaining as this has been, I really must be off. I'll keep you informed as to my whereabouts so you may join me when you're through toying with these simpletons. Oh, poor things, I almost feel sorry for them. They really had no idea how much trouble they were taking on when they took you under their wings."_

_And with that, she sets off, leaving her son stricken by her words. He stands that way for a long time, blinking back the shock, doing his best to compose himself before making his way down to the saloon. He sits in his corner table, drinking slowly, careful to keep up appearances that nothing is amiss. After the last patron for the night filters out, he continues to sit, staring at nothing. With a frustrated yell, he throws his bottle against a far wall. Standing, he flips his table over, kicks at a chair, hurls one of the glasses off the table beside him, and loses himself in his own method of destructive therapy._

* * *

Shaking the thoughts away, he catches the sound of his horse's labored breathing. Slowing the animal down gradually, he brings Chaucer to an easy walk, then to a complete stop. He wipes his hand down his face, allowing his features to be marred into a look of sheer devastation.

* * *

_They're helping him, cleaning up the mess wrought by his own hand. He hides his look of failure behind their backs, laughs and smiles when they look in his direction. He hums along with Buck's merry tune, he smiles when the glass bites into his hand, he reports to Nathan as promised, he clears the tension in the air after the fight brought about, again, by his own carelessness. He thanks them graciously for their assistance, apologizes for their wasted time, their loss of sleep, their concern over trouble that he caused. He laughs at JD's misfortune, earning reassured grins from his friends that he is fine. He tries his best not to alert the perceptive tracker to his sorrows, but knows he fails. And so he does the only thing he can do. He runs. He flies. He lets the air rushing past him repeat his own uttered words back to him over and over again: "I swear on the grave of…no, rather I give you my personal word that I will not cause one ounce of trouble for you on this venture. That is the best promise I can offer."_

* * *

Ezra P. Standish, trained con artist, master of deceit, genius of disguising all but what he wishes to portray, cups his head into his hands and cries.


	11. Chapter 11

"Do you think we should go find him?" JD asks, fidgeting in his seat and snatching little glances out the swinging doors.

"He'll be back," Larabee says, taking a long pull from his beer mug.

"But he's over an hour late. What if somethin' happened to him?" the young sheriff continues, obviously not placated by Chris's certainty.

Vin leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Josiah 'n I didn't get a chance to do a full patrol. There coulda been some trouble out there we didn't know about."

"He'll be back," Chris says again, using the same sure, casual tone.

As if hearing their conversation, their tardy con artist suddenly rushes into the bar with a sense of purpose. He looks immediately at his friends all seated around their usual table, and once he makes eye contact with his dark-clad leader, he scurries forward while pulling his book out of his pocket. He is already finished writing and his holding the page out in front of him as he reaches the table, an apologetic look on his face. Chris takes the briefest of glances at the page before holding his hand out.

"I don't want your apology, Ezra," he says sternly.

The gambler presses his lips into a thin line as he tenses up, just for a second, then looks away from Chris as he lets out a defeated-sounding breath. He gives the gunslinger a slight nod before turning to walk away. Larabee reaches out and grabs his arm, forcing him back around to make eye contact.

Chris holds the Southerner's gaze for a few seconds, his own eyes only revealing the sincerity for the words he is about to speak. "I don't want your apology 'cause you have nothing to apologize for." He sees the defiant look start to rise in Standish's eyes. Increasing his grip on the stubborn man's arm, he leans in closer and continues his speech, never breaking eye contact. "We know what you're doing, Ezra, and it needs to stop. You can't keep trying to make up for something that wasn't your fault."

The soft green eyes suddenly flare up with anger as Ezra wrenches his arm free. Feverishly writing out another message, he presses the pencil hard enough into the paper to tear it in places. When he's through, he practically throws the book into Chris's hands before storming from the saloon. Chris just stares after him for a second before Buck taps him on the shoulder.

"What's it say?" the ladies' man asks, inclining his head towards the journal.

Chris reads it aloud: " _I gave you my word, my_ personal _word! That is not something I can recall ever having offered before and I had every intention of following through. Despite my best efforts, however, I still managed to break my promise with catastrophic results to everyone who dared venture within five feet of my person. Even my attempts to rectify the situation have been tarnished with my recent outburst of unacceptable behaviors. Apparently I am simply not capable of keeping my word, thus deeming me rightfully untrustworthy. Mother was right. I am truly more trouble to all of you than I am worth."_

"Damn," Vin softly curses after Chris finishes his recital of Ezra's words.

"Looks like you were right about what's been eatin' him," Nathan says, sighing.

With a grunt, Larabee replies. "Yeah, but I wish I'd figured it out sooner, before Maude could do more damage."

"Ya think she knew?" JD asks. "I mean, that she figured it out and said that him on purpose?"

"Hard to say," Josiah responds, shaking his head. "But whether it was intentional or not, that woman has a knack for pouring salt on open wounds."

"Especially his," Buck frowns, then turns to Chris. "Should we go after 'im, set 'im straight?"

Chris shakes his head. "I'll handle it," he says, heading towards the doors.

"He headed toward the livery," Vin quietly offers, receiving a simple nod in thanks from the gunslinger.

…

With the dim light filtering into the stalls, Larabee almost misses the wayward gambler tucked discreetly against the wall of Chaucer's stall, sitting with his legs stretched comfortably between his horse's, one hand absently scratching the ears of the dalmatian dog who is resting her chin on his lap.

"That's a good way to get a broken leg," the man in black casually points out as he enters the stall, ignoring his own warning as he takes up a similar position beside Standish. Chaucer flicks his ears, but dutifully keeps his feet still while Queenie doesn't so much as twitch a muscle. For his part, Standish keeps his eyes downcast, continuing to slowly massage the dog's head and neck. After a few quiet minutes, Chris finally decides to break the silence.

"Maude really say that?" he asks gently, to which Ezra turns further away, giving Chris his answer. Sighing, he continues, "She have a reason to?"

Realizing Larabee was not going to let the matter drop, Ezra patiently holds out his hand, waiting for his means of communication to be returned to him. Once Larabee obliges, he hastily writes down a reply, bypassing his usual finesse for words. He thumps it onto the ground next to the gunslinger before turning his attention back to the dog. Chris frowns, looking down at the book to read the message: " _She's in denial - convinced herself this is an act, a con."_

"Isn't it?" Larabee asks with a slight touch of anger in his voice. Startled by the words, Ezra whips his head up to look at his respected leader. Chris clearly witnesses the myriad of emotions passing through the man's green eyes, flicking from disbelief to pain to anger to shame then to some sort of understanding before they again harden to their usual neutral state. He begins to turn away, but Chris's more-heated tone halts his movements yet again.

"I'm not talking about your voice, Ezra. I'm talking about you. Who've you been the last two months?" Larabee presses. "Edward Sims? Elijah Smith? Elliot Sanders? Or did you just decide to throw your initials out all together and start over? 'Cause whoever you've been lately damn well isn't Ezra Standish."

Swallowing hard and without looking, Ezra snakes his left hand out to scribble another short note onto the page: " _I thought I was being the person you all wished me to be. Or did I fail at that, as well?"_

Raking his hand down his eyes after reading the message, Chris then firmly turns Ezra's head so the two men can make eye contact.

"No, Ez, you didn't fail," he assures him quietly, but firmly, "You've been damn perfect, actually."

Chris almost laughs at the look of utter confusion that crosses the Southerner's face. Pulling his head free, he picks up the book and writes: " _So what, exactly, is the problem?"_

"I'm probably gonna regret telling you this," Larabee mumbles, sweeping a hand through his hair. "The problem is that we need the old you. We need your wit, your cunning, your flair, your stubbornness, and every other damn thing you do that drives us nuts. Hell, I chose you in the first place because you _weren't_ perfect, Ezra." He flashes a sly smile at the now perplexed-looking gambler before continuing. "Besides, things have been quiet enough around here since you lost your voice. The least you can do is cause some of your usual mischief – we're gettin' bored."

Standish snorts out a little laugh, much to the relief of the gunslinger, but then grows somber again as he writes: " _But what about my inability to keep my word? Is that not cause for concern?"_

Huffing out a frustrated sigh, Chris shakes his head sharply. "You didn't break your word, Ezra." The Southerner moves to write something else down, but Larabee reaches out a hand to still the pencil, continuing with his explanation. "You sent Buck away, I know, but that doesn't make what happened your fault. Took a while to sink into my own stubborn head, but it wasn't Buck's fault, either. He coulda been standing right next to you and that man could've just shot you under the table. He wanted to hurt you, and he would've succeeded one way or another….And everything that happened after you got hurt was our own damn fault, so quit shouldering the blame. I'm the one you made the promise to, Ezra, so I'm the one that decides whether you kept it or not. I'm telling you that you did."

Ezra looks into his eyes, seeming to search for something. After a few seconds under scrutiny, Chris uncharacteristically breaks away first. Softly, he adds, "You were wrong when you said you'd never given your personal word before." He looks up again to catch Ezra seeming to search his memory for a previous example and coming up with nothing. "You didn't say it out loud, but as far as I'm concerned, you _did_ give me your word back at the Seminole village. I knew making that promise went against everything in your nature and honestly I didn't think you'd keep it, but despite everything, you're still here. Since then, I've never had a doubt that I could trust your word, and I know the boys feel the same way."

After another second of silent scrutiny, the gambler seems to finally find whatever it is he is searching for in Larabee's eyes. The mischievous grin returning to his features – a genuine one this time – he scribbles something else into the book. Larabee can't help but laugh out loud when he reads it: _"Why, Mr. Larabee, I'm beginning to believe my involuntarily silence is having a most peculiar effect on you. It seems you feel the need to metaphorically 'take up the reigns' in the absence of my speech. I don't believe I've ever heard you utter so many words in one sitting before."_

"Shut up, Ezra," Chris grins, getting to his feet and offering a hand to help the Southerner get to his.

As they walk back to the saloon, the gambler writes a steady stream of notes in his little book with a noticeable glint in his eyes: " _You do realize you've just granted me permission to return to my habits of sleeping until a civilized hour of the day?"_

"I know," Chris nods.

" _And thank the good Lord I can refrain from damaging my hands further with any more unnecessary labor."_

"Wouldn't want that," Larabee keeps up with the game.

" _I will not abide for so much as one more of Nathan's foul concoctions."_

"Don't blame you," the gunslinger agrees with a grimace.

" _My recent generosity at the poker tables has been detrimental to my well-being. I have little choice but to make up for lost income in whatever means necessary."_

"Ezra…" Larabee warns as the gambler strolls a little bit ahead.

Standish writes one more note, turning to walk backwards so he can hold it up for gunslinger: _"Then there's the matter of the case of dynamite…"_

Chris's face drops and he stops walking for a second. Ezra laughs, remaining where he is until the man in black recovers his wits.

"Ezra!" Larabee spits out with a very feral-sounding growl.

Undaunted, Standish walks back over to place a hand on the seething man's shoulder. Looking away for a second to suck in a deep breath, he meets Chris's eyes with a look of soft sincerity and deep focus.

"Thhhan' … 'ou," he says, flashing a self-conscious but satisfied grin.

The annoyance disappears from Larabee's face, replaced with a joyful smile. "You're welcome," he responds with a friendly slap to Ezra's arm before making eye contact with something behind the gambler.

Ezra turns to see all his friends lined up on the porch behind him, wide grins threatening to split their faces. He flushes slightly at the realization that they all must have heard his slurred, but finally recognizable words. He shakes his head and tips his hat at them before they all turn to head back into the saloon. They don't get far before Inez pushes her way through the group.

"There you are," she says to Ezra with a polite smile. "I've been looking for you."

He tilts his head at her in anticipation of her explanation. The smile suddenly vanishes from her face.

"What did you do to my bar?" she nearly yells. At his innocent look, she fumes even further. "Oh, don't even try that with me. I know something happened. I have never seen the place so clean. What were you trying to cover up?"

Ezra's face slightly pales, and he turns to his friends with pleading eyes.

"He was just pickin' up the place before you got back," JD blurts out a little too quickly. He clamps his mouth shut when she shoots glaring daggers in his direction.

"And where is my broom?" she asks.

"Oh, that was my fault, darlin'" Buck offers with an apologetic smile. "I was just goofin' around and it got broke." His smile falters as she turns her fury on him.

"And the missing glasses?"

Vin tips his hat up. "Mighta taken a few for target practice. I'll replace 'em."

"Yes you will," she orders, her tone causing him to pull his hat back down over his eyes as she continues. "The missing alcohol? And don't tell me we had enough customers to drink that much."

Nathan clears his throat. "I, uh, borrowed some…for medical purposes."

"Then you will 'un-borrow' some on the next shipment. What happened to my chair?"

"Sometimes I forget I can't just throw my weight into those little wooden things," Josiah admits with a very believable flush. "I'm building you a new one."

"I expect it by next week," she demands, then turns to Chris. "And what about you? Is there anything you have to say?"

"No, ma'am," Larabee grins. "I'll see that my boys take care of the damages." He doesn't so much as flinch at his mens' angry glares.

"Gracias," Inez nods with a smile. "See that you do, because _none_ of you are getting served in my bar until everything is replaced."

As one, six of the seven men groan in a loud protest. The seventh, Ezra P. Standish, looks at each one of them in quiet speculation. Slowly, his face lights up with the biggest, most genuine smile to have ever graced his features.

_The End!_

… _or is it….?_


End file.
